


The Pitfalls of Being Famous

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternating Timelines, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Depression, Drummer Stiles Stilinski, Implied Malia/Stiles - Freeform, M/M, Singer Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Triggers, Work In Progress, implied infidelity, neither actually happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles thought that becoming famous was going to fix everything. He’d be able to pay the bills, feed his family, buy a huge house and a nice car. No one was ever going to have to worry about anything again.The one where Stiles wins a singing competition, starts a band, loses everything, and has to start over because he wants to get it all back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A WIP. Unlike my other WIPs, this one has NO set update schedule. My primary obligation is my original serial, and I'm hoping to drop chapters roughly monthly for this. Chapters may be anywhere between 2k and 10k--some of my notes look like they could run long. I'm currently outlining and guessing this will be 20+ chapters in the end in alternating timelines.
> 
> There will be angst, and it will have a happy ending. It's all relationship angst, in the messy ways things happen when two people have to go in opposite directions and have opposing goals, but still want very much to be together. There will be a lot of misunderstandings about relationships in the ways of the press getting between people and implying things that are untrue.
> 
> The rating may change, I don't know yet. The tags will definitely change, and I'll try to mention when there are updates to the tags at the start of the chapter. Please feel free to ask about anything.
> 
> Mostly, I really want to tell this story, and this will force me to pick away at it and get it out, by sharing it with y'all. I hope you enjoy the ride.

> _Stiles thought that becoming famous was going to fix everything. He’d be able to pay the bills, feed his family, buy a huge house and a nice car. No one was ever going to have to worry about anything again._
> 
> _He thought that, and it was a beautiful dream._
> 
> _He was wrong._

* * *

**NOW**

Stiles stands in the open entryway of the house, staring at the grand curved double staircase that circles up both sides to the mezzanine. This isn’t a house. He’s not sure it’s even a mansion. It feels a little like a castle on the inside, with stone floors and a high vaulted ceiling.

He hates it.

Malia crowds in behind him, her chin on his shoulder. “I love it. You said we all have our own rooms, right?” Her hands settle on his hips, fingertips digging in, and he can feel the way her cheek moves against his when she smiles. “I just don’t understand, why do we have to be so far from LA?”

“It’s only twenty miles,” Stiles says. He tries to keep his voice from being a complete monotone, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed.

Malia’s snort is disgusted. “Sure. But that’s over an hour with traffic. We’re going to spend half our lives on the road, Stiles. We have to get in the studio. We’ve only got three months before the album needs to be into post-production.” She pats his hip and steps away, shifting on her feet as she tries to decide between the left and right staircase.

She makes it to the foot of the left-hand staircase before she pauses and looks back, brow furrowed deeply. “Stiles. When you bought the house, did you buy furniture?”

He licks his lip, because it’s the obvious question to ask. “Your room is furnished,” he says, and that’s enough for Malia who bounces up the stairs, her bag over her shoulder and banging against her hip with every step.

He didn’t exactly buy furniture, but he made sure a decorator came in and took care of things. He sent pictures of things he knew his band liked; the decorator supposedly did a good job.

She sent pictures, but Stiles never looked at them. He doesn’t really care.

He shrugs his backpack off and lets it fall with a light thump on the floor. This is supposed to feel like coming home.

It doesn’t.

He’s still standing in the way when Liam, Mason, and Corey make it inside. They’re carrying most of the luggage, which really isn’t much. They’ve all learned to live light on the road, constantly on planes or buses, never knowing how quickly they’ll need to pack. The equipment will arrive in a truck and be unpacked by professionals.

He supposes he should mention to the band that they can do most of the recording right here, in the studio in the house. That they don’t have to deal with LA traffic.

Everything they need is right here in Beacon Hills.

That was the point behind buying the house after all.

“This place is intense.” Mason has a low whistle, and a kiss for Corey. Stiles is pretty sure that they’ll have christened their suite before dinner given the way they’re making out on the stairs.

Liam makes a choked noise, and Stiles glances at him.

He should be doing something more than standing in the entryway to his own damned house.

He kicks his bag closer to the wall. “I’m going to go find the staff,” Stiles announces as he heads for the hall leading off to the right.

“We have a staff?” Mason yells. “Sweet!”

#

The house is huge. Stiles knows this before they arrive—he’s seen some of the pictures, after all, and he remembers the real estate agent doing a walk-through with video before Stiles signed the paperwork. But seeing and actually trudging through the long hall from the front of the house all the way to the back is completely different. He passes by the empty kitchen that sits across the entire back of the house and opens a door into a narrow hall that leads from the main house into the servant’s house at the back.

He dreads having to tell the band that not only do they have staff, but the staff lives on site in their own house. He doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of these people. Stiles just needed to hire someone because he knows that (a) the band won’t clean, and (b) no one really cooks, and (c) someone has to live here when they’re on tour.

It’s just practical, really.

The narrow hall opens up to enter into one side of a screened in porch. The driveway also loops back along the other side of the house, and there’s another front door on the back house so the staff has their own entrance. Stiles steps up and raps on the door first, then realizes there’s a doorbell and rings that.

“I’ve got it!” a cheery voice rings out, and Stiles hears thumping footsteps and the distinctive sound of someone sliding on wood before the door is opened. A young woman stands there, looking back over her shoulder as she opens the door. “Hey, Hayden, were you expecting someone, because,” the woman turns back and her mouth opens with a tiny, shrill squeal. “Oh. Oh my God. You’re here already. I thought you were coming in tomorrow. Hayden thought you were coming in tomorrow. We were supposed to be in your house to greet you.”

Her hand is shaking where it holds the door, and Stiles just wants to reassure her. “It’s okay, we got out of Seattle early, and I just wanted to come home.” He glances over his shoulder, and he can see the house rising just past the circle of the driveway. “For values of home that are completely new to me.”

It’s not really home, and he’s not sure it ever will be, but at least it’s some place for them to come back to between tours.

There’s a small crowd now in the entryway to the staff house. Four of them. He knows the tall, lanky guy standing at the back has to be Brett; he’s the only guy on staff. Of the other three, one must be Hayden, another Lori, and the third is Kira.

Stiles supposes he should’ve paid attention to the photos so he’d know which one is which.

The shortest of the crew pushes her way forward, her heart-shaped face set into a determinedly polite smile, dark curls pulled into a thick ponytail. “You should have let us know so we could get the house ready,” she says, just a hint of snap to her voice. “Let us do our job properly.”

“You must be Hayden,” Stiles says. He thinks he’s going to like her.

“She is,” the one from the door says. She’s pretty. Bouncy, Asian, with a quick ready smile. She lifts one hand, wiggles her fingers. “I’m Kira. That’s Lori,” she points at the blond girl hanging back near Brett. “She’s Brett’s sister.”

That doesn’t sound right. Stiles has seen the list of employees, memorized their names. “They have different names.”

“Fosters,” Brett says. “We were both orphaned, then grew up in a foster home until they kicked us out and we ended up at a group home.” He crosses his arms, chin lifted, and it reminds Stiles of someone he once knew.

“You had money,” Stiles says, because he knows that defensive look. That imperious, snotty expression that says Brett could buy and sell him ten times over, if Stiles were still the boy he used to be. “Why are you working here?”

“Money doesn’t last.” Lori puts a hand on Brett’s chest, nudging him backwards. “Don’t worry, he’s not as much of an asshole as he seems like he’s going to be. He’s proud. You’d think he would’ve gotten over it, but no. Trust fund seeps through his pores.” She smiles then, soft and fond as she looks at him. “But he’s a good brother, and he’s not too proud to actually work for a living. So don’t worry, he’s not hanging around for the photo ops or to mooch off of you.”

“He likes classic cars,” Hayden says drily. “That Jeep in the garage? I think I saw Brett whispering sweet nothings to it.”

“Her,” Stiles and Brett both say.

Maybe he’ll like Brett, too, eventually. At least Brett has a good appreciation of a great car.

“Kira, Lori—” Hayden tosses a set of keys to them, and Lori quickly goes to the closet and pulls out a tote. “You have the budget. I know you’d planned to shop tomorrow, but do a minimal run tonight. Ensure that we have food to serve dinner for five. Do you have any guests?” She turns her attention back to Stiles.

“Just the band,” he says. “Really, we can order pizza. We’re fine. And make sure we have enough food that you guys can eat, too.”

Lori pauses just as Kira opens the door that leads out to the driveway. “What?”

“You guys should eat,” Stiles says slowly. “With us. I don’t want this to be some whole entitled rich manor house folks situation with the servants living in the servants’ quarters.”

Hayden almost smiles at that before her lips purse. Now that he thinks about it, she reminds Stiles of someone, too.

“We are servants living in the servants’ quarters,” she points out.

“How about you’re staff and friends both, who happen to live in the staff house,” Stiles counters. “Not above us, or beneath, just kind of sideways and getting paid to hang out with us. Which, let me tell you, is not always sunshine and unicorns. Malia never picks up after herself, Corey and Mason are prone to get it on pretty much anywhere the whim occurs, and Liam’s got a temper.”

Hayden glances at Brett. “We can handle it.”

“Then… dinner for nine?” Kira says slowly.

Stiles really hopes someone happened to order a dining room table. If not, he hopes they have comfortable cushions and some paper plates at the least. “Yes,” he decides. “Dinner for nine. And come to the house, first. I want to make sure the band knows who you are.”

#

Stiles manages to get through the shower in peace. He took the bedroom in the attic, a full suite of rooms with sloped ceilings and a dormer in one room with a bay window that looks out over the front lawn. He likes the idea that he has privacy; it feels like he’s been living in his band’s pockets for decades, even though it’s only been five years since he first met Malia and Liam, and four years since they recorded their first album as a band. After years of sharing a tour bus, having several rooms to himself is a luxury that he desperately needs.

Particularly when he can hear shouting from several floors away as soon as he emerges from the shower.

There are times when he feels old, as if he’s expected to be the parent, not just the lead singer, and this is definitely one of them.

Stiles wraps his towel around his waist, tucking it in and holding on just in case. He takes the stairs down to the second floor, and he can already see the altercation by the time he reaches the balcony that overlooks the foyer. There’s no need to pick a staircase, not when he can put his hands on the railing and lean over to see where Hayden stands with a hand pressed to her cheek, her skin red. Mason has Liam held back, and Brett stands behind Hayden, his hands on her shoulders, the rest of the staff behind them.

“You hit me!” Hayden yells.

“I wasn’t aiming for you!” Liam yells back. “I was aiming for that asshole behind you.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Stiles may not feel comfortable being in the limelight, but he knows how to work a stage, and this mezzanine is nothing but an elaborate stage. He pitches his voice to carry, dropping it so that it falls on top of them and they look up.

Kira’s cheeks go bright pink. “Are you wearing a towel?”

Stiles blinks and grins, even though it feels like it stretches his face in uncomfortable ways. “Rock stars, Kira. We’re rock stars.”

“Oh. Right. We’ll get used to it, I swear, I mean, give us a few days and we won’t even blink if you’re walking around naked.” She stops, a hand pressed to her mouth. “Not that I think you’re going to walk around naked. Where we can see you. I should just shut up now.”

Lori puts an arm around Kira’s shoulders, drops her head to press against Kira’s, and even from where he stands, Stiles can hear her muffled laughter.

“Liam,” Stiles says, because he isn’t surprised to find him at the center of conflict. He is surprised that it happened this fast, and that he hit the head of the staff, but they’ve had to deal with worse.

“I didn’t mean to hit her!” Liam protests. He shakes himself free of Mason’s hold, gestures at Hayden and Brett. “He’s a dick. Why did you hire him?”

“He didn’t,” Hayden says flatly. As she lowers her hand, Stiles can see the red mark from Liam’s strike against her skin. “I did. I was put in charge of staffing, and therefore Brett is a part of your staff. If this is going to be the kind of household where your staff is regularly struck, then we’ll all be putting in our notice.” She glances up at Stiles. “You said he had a temper. You didn’t say he’s abusive.”

“He’s….” Stiles fails to find a good way to explain it. They’ve been through so much over the years, and this is the first time he’s had this much of an issue. “Liam’s temper isn’t usually misplaced. He has a short fuse, but there’s usually a reason.” He leans a little further out. “You going to tell us the reason?”

Brett raises an eyebrow, and Stiles can see the challenge in his expression. Yeah. Brett really does remind Stiles of someone, and this time Liam reminds him of himself and Stiles realizes he doesn’t really need an explanation.

He remembers a time pretty much like this in high school that ended up with an asshole having a restraining order against Stiles, after the asshole started it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Liam mutters. “Just don’t expect me to be hanging out pretending we’re friends here.”

“Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself,” Brett replies. There’s a low grunt, and Stiles is pretty sure Hayden just shoved an elbow in his ribs.

It’s awkward in the aftermath. Corey and Mason are wrapped around each other, as Corey presses a kiss to Mason’s cheek, while Liam stands nearby, arms crossed, still vibrating with anger. Malia leans on the rail of one of the stairways, watching Stiles. Hayden whispers furiously to Brett.

Kira bounces away from Lori, claps her hands. “Oh! We brought back pizza and ice cream cake. It’s all in the kitchen because we figured maybe you didn’t want to do the whole formal dining room thing.” She points the way, and gestures for everyone to follow before heading that way herself.

Stiles is thankful for the way it breaks the tension. Mason grabs Liam and pulls him into the kitchen, and Hayden lingers with Brett still talking in the foyer. As the group breaks up, Malia snickers, a grin lighting her eyes.

Stiles sighs; that expression never means anything good for him. “What is it?”

“Don’t know if you realized it, but when you stand right there, we can see right up your towel,” she points out. “So unless you want to keep on flashing the new staff, you might want to get dressed and cover up your junk.”

Kira’s voice in the distance is loud and cheerful, the words indistinct but the sound clear. Mason’s exclamations in return are just as excited, and Stiles can tell that this is going to work out. If he can keep Liam and Brett from killing each other—and maybe he should include Hayden in that problematic equation—this house is going to work.

Stiles pushes back from the rail, points at the hall. “Go have dinner. I’m taking you guys on a tour of the house later, show you all the secret passages that the realtor used to convince me to buy this place. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Is that your way of saying we have an indoor pool?” Malia asks.

Stiles hesitates, draws out the space before he answers on purpose. “Indoor pool, yes,” he agrees. “There’s also a racquetball court down there, so you can get some of Liam’s aggression out in a useful way. We’ve also got a full studio.”

“No commute!” Malia shakes her head. “This place is pretty backwater, but if we don’t have to drive to LA, that’ll be great. Go cover up, Stiles. I want pizza.”

Stiles takes the stairs up to his suite slowly, locking the door behind him. Someone will be up to find him eventually; probably Malia, he figures. They always send Malia when they realize that he’s disappeared.

His bag lies on the bed, and he pulls clothes out, puts them away. He pulls on a pair of boxers, and a pair of jeans. The t-shirt comes from the bottom of his bag, a little too tight on his frame, but he doesn’t care. It’s worn thin with age, the printed words cracking after being washed too many times. The shirt was old before Stiles ever became famous, and he still remembers unwrapping it at Christmas when he was fifteen years old.

It was his favorite t-shirt in high school.

He touches the cracked clef and words that state “Treble Maker” and closes his eyes for a minute. This was more than half a lifetime ago, and it’s not like he has much left from that era of his life.

The last thing that comes out of his bag is a picture frame, the hinge closed to protect the two pictures while packed. He opens the frame, sets it carefully on top of the bureau and touches the top of each picture. “Hey Derek. Hey Rosie,” he murmurs. The picture on the left shows Derek holding Rosie up, pressing a kiss to her cheek. On the right is Rosie herself, lying on a blanket, a fuzzy stuffed wolf wrapped under one arm as she laughs at the camera.

Both were taken not long after they brought her home.

Home.

It feels so strange to be back in Beacon Hills again.

Stiles carefully opens the hinge even further, then sets the frame face down on the bureau so his ex-husband and daughter aren’t staring at him. They didn’t like what he’s become, and he doesn’t need to see them judging him.

He needs to move on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters of _Pitfalls_ are (mostly) alternating timelines between NOW and THEN.
> 
> Hey all! I'm almost 2/3 of the way through the third chapter, so I decided it's time to post the second chapter. Hopefully I can get the third chapter finished soon.
> 
> Also, I've been thinking that y'all might want to know what background ships are in the story, so I've included a link in the end notes to a page where I wrote those up. Only click if you want to be spoiled about what ships will be in the background (other than Mason/Corey which was sort of obvious from the first chapter).

**THEN**

Stiles twirled a drumstick between his fingers, pausing only so he could reach out with it toward Rosie, letting her grasp it with her pudgy fingers. “Daddy’s going to need this,” he said quietly, all too aware that there were people on the other side of the curtain. People who would watch him perform soon and judge him and yeah, no, he wasn’t ready for that at all.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile was soft and slow, his hand warm when he cupped Stiles’s cheek with his free hand, his other holding Rosie perched on his hip.

The whole world slowed down for him in that moment, and Stiles took a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’ve got this,” Derek murmured. “I have faith in you. Just go out there and sing like you’re singing to Rosie, or God help us, like you’re singing in the shower. And maybe don’t drum on the judges’ table.” He plucked the drumstick from Stiles’s hand, putting it into his pocket before Stiles could get it back.

Without it, Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He shoved them in his pockets, but he only had to wait a moment before a man with a clipboard was motioning for him to follow.

“Good luck,” Derek whispered.

“Wait.” Stiles grabbed Derek. “I can’t—”

The man with the clipboard stopped, looked back, frowning when he realized Stiles hadn’t moved. “They can come with you,” he said.

“Oh thank God.” Stiles gripped Derek’s hand, dragged him down the hall. “I need you there. I just—I need to pretend it’s just you and me and Rosie, and there aren’t any cameras, and that Deucalion isn’t waiting to chew my head off, and that Kali won’t be complaining about how pitchy I am. I just—”

“I’ll be there,” Derek assured him.

“Dadadadada,” Rosie shouted cheerfully before shoving her hand back in her mouth.

Right. He had his support network. It was just singing, and Stiles did that every day, pretty much all day. He could do this.

He followed the man with the clipboard down the hall into a room that was ringed with curtains, offering an illusion of a backdrop while the cameras could still see out into the room. Stiles found himself abruptly in front of the judges’ table, where Deucalion, Kali, Jennifer, and Ennis all sat waiting.

Wow. This was really happening.

He tapped his thigh, uncomfortable without the drumstick in his hand and all too conscious of the cameras.

“So, Mi—”

“Just call me Stiles,” he said, cutting Jennifer off before he could think better of it. He knew it was on his paperwork, and he knew they were just going to butcher his name because it would make good TV. He didn’t want that out there, didn’t want them to even try.

“Stiles,” Deucalion said flatly, the word clipping in his sharp tones.

“Yes.” He settled back on his heels, trying to find something to do with his hands. “It’s a nickname. My given name is Polish and the only person who can pronounce it correctly is my dad. So please, just call me Stiles.”

“You look uncomfortable.” Kali’s gaze was sharp, her smile full of teeth as her gaze raked over him from head to toe.

He resisted crossing his arms over his chest as if he had any chance of hiding in plain sight. “I’m a good singer, but I’m not used to being out in front,” he admitted.

“Do you play an instrument?” Jennifer’s sweetness could fool anyone who hadn’t watched the show for five minutes. Stiles was well aware that she had a piranha’s teeth.

“Drums,” he said, and he waited, knowing the cameras would want to take in those shocked expressions from the judges. “Like Phil Collins. If Genesis could have a lead singer with a kit, then I can do it, too.”

“You do realize, Mr. Stilinski, that we are seeking the next big thing in solo music, not auditioning someone for a band,” Deucalion said dryly.

Stiles didn’t want to get into the details of what he wanted out of life, the things he daydreamed about when he was lying with Derek in bed, dreaming of better days. “I know,” he said firmly. “My husband encouraged me to come out for this. He believes me in me, thinks I can make it.”

Rosie cooed loudly. Jennifer’s eyes went wide, and she stood up, striding over to the curtains and whisking them back to reveal Derek with Rosie on his hip. Derek bounced and swayed as he tried to soothe Rosie. “Another contestant?” Jennifer chirped.

Derek huffed. “No. Just the husband.”

Rosie leaned forward, fingers outstretched as she reached for Stiles. “Dadadadadadadada!” she insisted.

Kali covered her mouth with her fingertips. Jennifer walked back to the table to take her seat once more.

The cameras drank it all in.

Stiles could come up with so many scenarios for how they might spin it, and he played out the risks of putting his small daughter in the way of the media. Of bringing his husband on camera as well.

Rosie reached for Stiles again. “Da!” Her nose scrunched up, and a small sniffle became a tiny wail.

There was only one decision to be made.

Stiles held out his hands, scooping her away from Derek as he murmured, “It’ll be fine.” He took their daughter and returned to his spot in front of the table. “This is Nora Rose, but we call her Rosie because there are four other Noras in her daycare. Aren’t there?” he asked her, tickling her tummy until she giggled.

Stiles glanced back at Derek, smiling at the soft look in his eyes. “And that’s Derek, my husband of six years. We were high school sweethearts, and we have been together forever. He’s my inspiration.”

“And the one who has to listen to you singing in the shower every morning,” Derek said, deadpan. The judges laughed, and Stiles counted that in the win column.

He leaned in close to Rose and whispered, “Do you want me to sing to you, little girl?”

“Dada sing!” she chortled, clapping pudgy hands against his cheeks, and that had to be enough for him.

Besides, she gave him something to focus on other than the cameras and the judges. He had his husband and his little girl; they were his whole world.

He opened his mouth and sang softly, as if it were just for his Rosie, the same song that he sang to her every single night as she went into her crib. The Polish words rolled off his tongue, familiar from his mother’s singing them to him when he was tiny. Rosie chortled happily as he swayed with her, singing along in her own incoherent rambles.

As he finished, he realized that the room was silent. Derek stepped forward, took Rosie from his arms and Stiles turned slowly to face the judges. “So,” Stiles said quietly. “That wasn’t the song I meant to sing.”

Jennifer had a soft smile that Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen. Even Ennis was paying close attention.

“What did you intend to sing, Mr. Stilinski?” Deucalion asked. Despite the dark glasses, Stiles was absolutely certain that Deucalion was staring at him.

Stiles rubbed his hands along his jeans. “I prepared ‘Angel’s Wings’ by Westlife.”

Deucalion tilted his head. “And how did you choose that particular song?”

“Phil Collins.” Stiles was well aware that it made no sense, but he also wasn’t sure that the panel of judges would truly appreciate the rabbit hole of several lost hours on the internet that had led him to finding Westlife. So he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I happened to find it, and it’s a great song, and it showcases my voice.”

Jennifer and Kali were leaned back from the table, whispering. Deucalion leaned forward. “Okay, Stiles.” He put emphasis on the name as he gestured. “Sing.”

Adrenalin shuddered through him, hot and cold all at once. Stiles stared at the floor, trying to recall the words, the tune, anything that he needed in order to sing. When he looked up, Derek was watching him, and Rosie waved.

That was enough.

“_I would die for you / Lay down my life for you / The only thing that means everything to me_,” Stiles sang. His gaze locked with Derek’s, he sang the entire first verse, surprised when nobody interrupted. They let him launch into the chorus, his voice ringing out with gentle strength as Derek smiled at him. He risked a glance at the panel just before he started the next verse, and Deucalion coughed.

Stiles fell silent, but the next words still rang in his mind. _And I often wonder why / Someone as flawed as I / Deserves to be as happy as you make me_. He smiled to himself, because it encapsulated the wonder he felt in Derek’s love ever day.

“You have a voice, Mr. Stilinski,” Deucalion said.

“I’m not mute,” Stiles agreed, and he swore that Ennis snickered.

Deucalion coughed again, waiting for silence before saying simply, “I vote yes.”

Holy shit.

“I don’t see any point in denying just how adorable you are with your daughter, and I’m looking forward to seeing how you hold up when you’re on stage in Hollywood. You say you’re not used to being out in front, but you have a presence about you. It’s going to be interesting,” Jennifer said, glancing at Derek before looking back to Stiles. “Also yes.”

“Yes,” Ennis said before Kali could say anything. “You’re through.”

He was through.

He was heading for Hollywood.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit!” He turned to Derek, held out his arms as Derek swept him up. They danced around, all three of them with Rosie laughing delightedly, and when they stopped, Derek kissed him, slow and lingering.

There were cameras in the background, but Stiles didn’t care anymore. His husband, his daughter: this is why he auditioned. He would do this for them.

“Congratulations,” Derek murmured. “I knew you could do it.”

“You always have faith in me,” Stiles replied. He just had to hope he was truly worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be.... when I get it finished, edited, and a little more outlined on the way to the rest!
> 
> If you want to be spoiled about the background ships (if there are any that really bother you, here be warnings), I have made a public post on Pillowfort: [ship spoilers for Pitfalls](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/841925).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! It's been a little over a month since last update, sorry. I've been very focused on keeping up with my original work and with outlining the arcs of this story. At this point, I have um... at least 18 chapters planned for Pitfalls, of varying lengths. I'm hoping to get a little more worked on during November when I need a break from ITS during NaNo.
> 
> This chapter is just over 4k long and almost doubles the total length of this story so far.

**NOW:**

The strangest thing about being in Beacon Hills is the lack of security.

Stiles walks out to the garage, past the various cars that belong to his band and the staff to where his Jeep waits at the very end of the row. He has another car he could drive. A very expensive modern one, built in the current century and with fewer than 10,000 miles on it. But this is his Jeep. The same one he’s had since he was sixteen, and right now he’s thankful to Brett for making sure it’s road ready.

He climbs in, pulling the door shut to luxuriate in the strange sense of being alone.

Stiles is used to being lonely in a crowd, but he can’t remember being alone often in the last five years. Ever since he started down the slippery slope to fame, it seems like someone’s been by his side, a camera in his face and a mic shoved in front of his mouth. This kind of silence is absolute bliss.

The Jeep comes to life with a rumble as the garage door opens. Stiles pulls out slowly, half expecting someone to come running out of the house to insist that he take a security detail with him. Except they don’t have a security detail at the house. They’re acting like normal people, living normal lives.

As if any of them know how to do that anymore.

The path to Beacon Veterinary is familiar, even after all these years. Stiles takes note of changes—both small and large—as he goes. The old warehouse that was torn down and replaced by condos. The coffee shop with a new name, advertising open mic night every Thursday. He smiles to himself, wondering what they’d do if he showed up with a pair of drumsticks to tap on a stool while he sings.

It sounds like fun, right up until he realizes that he’d attract attention. That someone would put it online, and the place would be overrun.

Being famous isn’t what it was cracked up to be.

When he gets to the old building that houses the veterinary office, he drives around the back, parking along the new addition that juts out. He pulls on his hoodie, tugs the hood up over his head, and shoves on a pair of sunglasses. He sees Scott’s bike in the lot, but there are also four other cars in the employee lot; since Scott expanded the business, Stiles knows he’s not alone in there. He almost misses the days when it was just Deaton and Scott, not even a proper assistant. He could always trust Deaton to treat him just as terribly as usual, without caring for fame.

The door creaks and thuds as it closes, and Stiles pats the Jeep before he lets her rest. The back door to the building is propped open with a stone so Stiles can slip inside, pausing in the cacophony of cats yowling and dogs barking. He shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie and tries to get his bearings. Scott has to be here somewhere. Maybe with a patient. Doesn’t matter, Stiles can wait.

Stiles closes his eyes, inhales quietly as he listens to the sounds of the office. There are multiple kennels now—one for boarding small dogs, one for boarding large dogs, and one for sick animals. He’s pretty sure there’s a separate space for cats, but he isn’t positive. There are plenty of footsteps around, but he hears Scott’s voice somewhere to his left, low and sing-song.

He’s probably talking to a patient. Or a kid. Either way, Stiles will take the risk. He keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched as he slinks through the hallway to the open door of an exam room.

Scott sits on the floor, a big grey mutt of a dog sprawled across his lap, with a tortoiseshell cat perched on the hip of the dog. “C’mon,” Scott says in a cajoling voice. “I just need to get these drops in your other ear. I know you hate it, but mites are worse, believe me.”

The cat butts her head up against the dog’s jaw, and the dog slowly turns his head to put his ear in Scott’s reach. The dog exhales with a long sigh, and Scott quickly puts the drops in, massaging the base of the ear to make sure they go all the way into the ear canal.

The cat looks over at where Stiles stands in the door and hisses, her tail fluffing and back arching. She leaps down, puts herself between the dog and Stiles.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Stiles says quietly as he sinks to a crouch, hand out with the palm down, fingers loose. The mutt crawls off of Scott’s lap and slinks across the floor, low to the ground until he gets his head under Stiles’s hand. The cat hurries to join him, sniffing Stiles’s fingers and giving his skin a quick nip.

“Stiles.”

He raises his head, smiles slightly. “Hey, Scott. I’m back.”

It’s funny how Scott can manage to look angry and like a kicked puppy all at once. “Yeah, I see that,” Scott says. “If you want to be seen, you should try using the front door.”

Stiles touches his hood. “Yeah, no. I’m incognito today. Here to see one best friend and maybe play with some cute animals.” He has to sit down quickly, because the dog crawls into his lap, and it knocks him on his ass. The cat butts his elbow with her head, making a soft _mrow_ sound like she’s asking questions.

“Nurse,” Scott mumbles, his brow still furrowed over sad eyes. “The cat. We’re calling her Nurse, because she came in with the dog and she takes care of him. He doesn’t have a name yet.”

“I want them.” It’s definitely not the kind of thing Stiles should be saying. Not now, when he can barely take care of himself and his band. Not now, when it’s possible they’ll go back out on tour in the not so far away future.

But.

The dog looks up at him, his tongue hanging out as he pants softly. Then the dog lunges up, and Stiles gets a face full of dog slobber as the dog licks his cheek.

He really needs a better name than _the dog_ for him.

“I’m serious,” he says, when Scott stays silent.

Scott pushes himself to his feet, turns his back. “No,” he says firmly. “You aren’t at all the kind of person we want adopting—”

“How can you say that?” Stiles would get up and get in Scott’s face, but he’s currently buried under fifty pounds of grey mutt that’s insisting on trying to lick him. “He loves me, Scott. Look at this. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“And when you go out on the road?”

It isn’t easy talking to Scott’s back like this. And it’s not like Stiles didn’t just have that thought. “I have staff,” Stiles says slowly. “We bought a house. It’s near here, and we have staff living on site. They’ll take care of the house—and Nurse and the dog—when we’re gone. You don’t have to worry about them being neglected. I swear, Scott.”

Scott’s shoulders tense, then slowly relax.

He’s relenting. Just like Stiles knew he would.

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Scott turns around slowly, a clipboard in hand. “And they both need their shots, so you can’t take them right now anyway. If you’re going to do this, I can bring them by tonight, and you’ll need to go out and get everything you need first. I’ve got lists. Don’t skimp.”

Stiles scoffs. “I’m rich. I won’t skimp.”

Scott crouches down, staring at Nurse. She makes a soft sound, then nudges her way under Stiles’s elbow so that he’s holding her as well as the dog.

Scott exhales in a huff. “Fine. If Nurse says you’re okay, then you can have them. She’s protective. She obviously doesn’t think you’re going to hurt either of them.”

“Excellent.” Stiles falls back onto the floor, lets the dog climb on top of him and lick him earnestly. Nurse wiggles her way under the dog’s chin, planting herself across Stiles’s chest. She’s small and not nearly as annoying as the dog.

Stiles cards his fingers through her soft fur. Not that either of them is really all that annoying. He wonders if he could get away with taking them on tour next time.

He wonders if anyone is allergic. It’s funny how he doesn’t know the answer, after all this time. He probably should.

He also doesn’t actually care.

Nurse gently cleans his chin with her raspy tongue, and Stiles closes his eyes.

“Hey.” Scott nudges his knee. “If you get out of here, you can go get all the stuff and I’ll get these two ready for you. Just give me your address.”

There are voices somewhere outside, coming closer.

Stiles has no desire to move.

The door opens. “Hey, Scott, Mrs. Malcolm is here and—oh, hey, I didn’t realize you had someone back here.” The voice is cheerful and feminine and Stiles doesn’t bother to look up to see who it is. One of Scott’s new vets, he figures.

“Thanks, Meg, I’ll be out in a minute. I’m just going to do some paperwork here for getting these two adopted out,” Scott says. “This is my old friend. He stopped in and got himself adopted.”

For a minute Stiles thinks that Scott’s going to introduce him, and he’s just grateful that the dog and cat are blocking his face. He’s not in the mood to be noticed. Or fawned over.

“I’ll put Mrs. Malcolm in room two and let her know you’ll be a few minutes,” Meg replies cheerfully. “Take your time. And hey, congrats on the new pets. Looks like they’ll be well-loved.”

“There really is paperwork,” Scott says quietly once Meg is gone. “And I need your new contact information. You aren’t staying with Derek and Rosie, right?”

“Scott.” Stiles sits up, Nurse squeaking in irritation when he wraps his arms around her to keep her from sliding down his chest. He idly scratches at the dog’s belly, one of the dog’s legs twitching like he’s trying to scratch.

Scott glances over, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, Stiles?”

“The divorce happened,” Stiles says quietly. “That’s not going to change just because I’m back in the area. My phone’s still the same as it always was; if you don’t have it, you’re the one who deleted it. Give me the forms and I’ll give you my address. Like I said, we bought a house. The whole band is there, and we have staff on site, and we’ve got a recording studio in the basement. Things are different now.”

He swears Scott looks disappointed in him, like any second he’s going to go _tsk tsk_ and wag a finger while sighing. “Yeah,” Scott says. “They really are, aren’t they.”

It isn’t a question, and Stiles doesn’t bother to answer it. He keeps Nurse tucked up close with his off hand while he fills out the paperwork, finishing just as she starts to purr. Her claws are hooked into his hoodie, and he has to pry her loose before he bends down to get a few messy kisses from the dog. She seems disappointed when he hands her back to Scott.

At least they seem to love him. He’s not so sure about Scott. He’d really expected a warmer welcome from his best friend.

“So, I’ll see you later?” Stiles prompts as Scott looks over the paperwork.

Scott hands him the promised list of things to buy. “See you later,” he agrees.

Stiles sneaks out the back, makes it safely into his Jeep without running into anyone. He pauses long enough to send a text to Malia before he heads to the nearest big pet store.

_It’d help if you feel like going out tonight. Or plan on staying upstairs._

#

They’re watching a movie in the small theater on the second floor when the doorbell rings. Mason jumps up like a shot and races out, Corey and Liam not far behind. Malia turns to look at Stiles.

“Is this going to be whatever it was that you thought I shouldn’t be around for?” she asks.

There’s a small chance it’s someone else. Or something else.

There’s also a chance that Stiles isn’t in the mood to fight about it, so he just stands up and pushes past her chair so he can get out and head for the stairs.

The barking starts before he gets there, followed by a loud meow and a squeal that he thinks belongs to Kira.

“Oh my God, aren’t you the cutest? I don’t know which one to hug first!”

That’s definitely Kira.

Malia follows as Stiles makes his way to the stairs. The front door is open, Scott standing near the doorway, a plastic carrier by his feet. From the carrier, Nurse’s howl echoes loudly as the dog bounces around, bounding from person to person, his leash trailing behind him. Mason makes a grab for the leash, and as soon as the dog feels the tug, he whips around and leaps up to try to lick Mason’s cheek.

“Oh.” Malia wraps her arms around Stiles’s waist from the back, leans her chin on his shoulder. “Well. This is awkward.”

“And yet, you’re not helping.” Stiles shrugs her off. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“I’m not the one who—”

Stiles turns halfway down the stairs, his hand out to cut her off. “No, Malia.”

By the time he makes it to the bottom, Scott is crouched in front of the carrier, reaching in as Nurse hisses.

“Let me try,” Stiles says. He’s a little surprised that Scott listens, moving to one side so Stiles can crouch down and hold out a hand. Nurse quiets, sniffing at his fingertips. She darts out, claws outstretched as she climbs his arm, digging in until she’s perched on his shoulder like a parrot.

He reaches up so that Nurse can headbutt his fingertips, and it occurs to him that maybe he should’ve warned the band that they were getting a cat and dog.

Stiles turns slowly back to face the others. Kira is texting furiously, stabbing at her phone with her thumbs. Stiles hears a door slam in the distance, and he suspects that’s the rest of their staff coming to find out what’s going on and meet the new residents.

Mason and Corey are on the floor with the dog trying to sprawl across them both. The dog is belly up, panting happily with one leg thumping as they rub his belly. Liam watches with both eyebrows up and his arms crossed.

Malia still stands at the base of the stairs, and Scott hasn’t left the doorway.

Stiles can feel the awkward.

Stiles waits for Lori, Hayden, and Brett to join them before he makes the announcement. “So. We have new housemates.”

“You didn’t talk to us first,” Liam mutters. “What if we’re allergic?”

“You’re not allergic,” Mason says dryly. “None of us are. Stop bitching, Liam.”

Hayden’s lips purse. “Cleaning up after—”

“I already put the litter box upstairs, in my suite,” Stiles says, cutting her off. “And I’ve put another one in the sun room. I’ll take care of them. I’ll walk the dog. This isn’t on any of you. I just saw them, and I wanted—” He cuts himself off there, and it bothers him that both Malia and Scott are looking at him like they know what he was going to say.

Corey falls back and the dog goes with him, stretched out on his chest, licking his chin. Corey digs his hands in behind the dog’s ears, and the dog looks utterly thrilled at the attention. “What are their names?”

“This is Nurse, and the dog is—” Stiles frowns. He’s the wordsmith. He should have a name for the dog by now other than just _the dog_ and he doesn’t.

Words are tricky things, and they’ve been failing him for months now. This is just the first time it’s happened in public.

“The dog doesn’t have a name yet,” Scott says. He avoids Malia’s gaze as he hunkers down next to Corey and gestures for the others to approach. “You should let him smell you. Get used to all of you. I know he’s going to love you, but he’s been on the street, just him and Nurse.” He smiles slightly. “We called the cat Nurse because she takes care of him.”

“Poindexter,” Liam says.

“What?” Stiles glances over at him.

Liam shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but the points of color on his cheeks mean that for some weird reason, that name matters to him. “Poindexter,” he says firmly. “We can call him Dex, for short.”

“Dude.” Malia approaches just so she can bump him with her shoulder. “Why Poindexter?”

“Dex,” Corey whispers, rubbing the dog’s ears. “Who’s a good boy? Is Dex a good boy?”

Dex thumps the floor with one foot, yips, and licks Corey’s nose.

Scott looks up from where he’s still crouched next to Dex and Corey. “Seems like he likes the name.”

“Dude.” Malia shoulders Liam just a bit harder. “Why Poindexter?”

Liam looks down at Mason, Corey, and the dog. His shoulders hunch as he turns away from Brett. “I like hockey,” he mutters.

“What does that have to do with it?” Malia shoves at him as Liam shrugs again. “Whatever, it works. Even Saint Scott approves.”

“Malia,” Stiles says quietly.

“You know, Rosie loves animals,” Scott murmurs. “I’ve been looking for just the right dog for Derek. Thought maybe this one would work, but I wasn’t sure about Nurse, and well, you got there first.”

Malia sidles up to Stiles, wraps her arm around him and leans in close, cheek to cheek. “I was being sarcastic,” she whispers loudly. “Scott’s not a saint. Not even close. He just thinks he is.” She pats Stiles’s ass before she saunters to the stairs, waving over her shoulder as she goes. “I’m going to finish the movie. Anyone who wants out of the awkward, join me upstairs.”

It’s amazing how quickly his band moves when Derek’s name has been invoked. Dex lopes after them, skidding on the hardwood floor at the top of the stairs.

Nurse stays perched on Stiles’s shoulder, her claws digging through his shirt and into his skin. Scott stands slowly, brushing imaginary dirt off his knees. Stiles tries to ignore the fact that the entirety of his staff is still there, probably completely unaware of just how difficult Scott is being.

Stiles decides that maybe he’ll be blunt. See if it scares them off.

“You know we never fucked, right?” he says. He doesn’t bother with context; Scott will get it.

“I know you got involved with all of them, and suddenly fame and fortune and being seen with her on the cover of magazines was more important than your husband and daughter,” Scott shoots back. “And no, I don’t think I’m a saint. I tried to be your friend, Stiles, but you were kind of an asshole.”

Stiles can’t deny that. “Yeah,” he says flatly. “I was. So were you.”

Kira coughs, and Lori whispers, “_Hush_,” and Stiles is grateful that they seem to be trying to melt into the woodwork. Until Hayden steps forward, arms crossed and head tilted, her brows furrowed when she looks at Scott.

“Is there anything we should know about people who shouldn’t have access to the house?” she asks.

Scott looks offended.

Stiles presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “No. Nothing worse than you’ve already seen. Scott and Malia can’t stand each other, but I’m pretty sure that they’re less likely to throw punches than Liam and Brett. Derek’s my ex, and the chances of him showing up here are precisely zero, so you don’t need to worry about that. I’m going to go watch the rest of that movie, and Scott’s leaving anyway. If the rest of you ever want to use the movie room—with or without us—you’re welcome to do that. Come on and join us now if you want.”

Lori’s the only one to follow Stiles to the stairway, and Kira makes a strangled squeaking noise as she does so.

Scott pauses at the door, says, “Dude,” in a low voice and waits there until Stiles turns around. Scott’s jaw is set, his lips pressed thin. “I’m not going to not tell Derek you’re around,” he says quietly.

“It’s not a secret,” Stiles replies. He turns away, reaches for Nurse and manages to get her off his shoulder so he can carry her up the stairs more easily. He waits until the front door closes before saying, “Hayden, there’s this Thai place like two blocks away and it used to be really good. Order us some random shit from there, like a little of everything, and we’ll all eat in the dining room again. All of us. You’re included.”

“I’m not a cat person,” Brett mutters as he walks away, and Kira shushes him.

Lori touches Stiles’s shoulder when they reach the top of the stairs, and it startles him so much that he stops moving. She smiles slightly when he looks at her, but doesn’t move her hand. “It’ll all be okay,” she says softly. “Just give it time. You’ll settle in, Brett will stop poking Liam, and your dog and cat are really cute.”

Nurse meows as if to emphasize the point.

It’s funny, because Stiles has been trying to convince people to just treat him like a normal person for years now, and Lori’s the first person to do that. He clenches his jaw, his breath suddenly tight in his chest, and he feels moisture prick the corners of his eyes.

He walks away, and her hand drops from his shoulder. “It’s already okay,” he says sharply, emphasizing it for good measure and so she gets the point. “It’s always okay.”

#

They finish the movie and watch another while eating the Thai food. The movie room isn’t meant to hold nine people and a cat and a dog, but they make it work. Stiles is vaguely surprised that no fights break out. By the end of the movie Mason and Corey are getting cosy in a corner and that’s more than Stiles feels like dealing with. He clips Dex’s leash back on and takes him down the stairs, Nurse trotting along by his side.

She follows him out the front door, and Stiles keeps the door open, pointing back inside. “Stay,” he says, but Nurse doesn’t listen. She makes her way down the stairs and sits, looking at him like he’s the one being slow about things.

“Cats don’t go on walks,” Stiles points out. Dex pulls at the end of the leash, and Stiles starts walking quickly, trying to guide him down the long drive that leads to the house. They’ve got at least a half mile to the road, and Dex sets a bruising pace, excited to be walking. Nurse keeps up surprisingly well, and Stiles just hopes she doesn’t get tired so that he has to carry her home.

Apparently Nurse is going where Dex goes, whether Stiles likes it or not. He might as well get used to it.

Dex takes several side trips on the way down the driveway, sniffing and pausing to mark his territory often. By the time they get to the street, he’s dancing excitedly, woofing as each car drives by. Stiles steers him onto the sidewalk and shortens up the leash just in case Dex pulls too hard. Nurse continues to trot along next to them both, periodically nudging Dex when he gets distracted by sniffing at the scenery.

When Stiles hears a car coming with a distinctive beat thumping from the speakers, he winces. The windows are closed, so he can’t hear his own voice, but he hears his drums, the pace he sets. His fingers move with the beat instinctively trying to follow along as the car drives closer.

The car is loud, the engine rumbling as it slows down a bit. A big black Camaro, the windows tinted dark, with one rolling down. Stiles’s voice spills out into the air from the radio: _I always knew it was you | No matter what stories they told | Every time they asked me who | I always knew it was you_.

Stiles looks over despite himself, catching a glimpse of a small child in the back seat, dancing in her car seat. He starts to wave, then spots the driver.

The Camaro slows down again.

Stiles lowers his hand.

Derek stares at him.

“Shit,” Stiles mutters, and Dex dutifully woofs loudly.

The Camaro roars as Derek pushes the pedal down, accelerating faster than he should on a residential road. Stiles just stands there in the cloud of exhaust left behind, staring after him.

Dex pulls at the leash, back toward the house, and Nurse butts into Stiles’s ankles. He turns slowly and walks without thinking about it.

There are cold tracks from tears on his face, but he’s not thinking about that either. He knew Derek was still in Beacon Hills. He knew there was a chance he could run into them.

He just didn’t think it would happen so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully admit that while the next chapter is outlined, I haven't started drafting it yet. November is for NaNo which will be about 80% ITS and short stories and 10% this, and well, 10% something else I don't even know, I am sure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! Thank you so much for being patient. <3 NaNo was a good month for me, and I wrote some of this (not enough) and a lot of PHU, and a couple little fics for palette cleansers. For this chapter, it's back to the past again, as Stiles moves on to Hollywood and meets a few new folks.
> 
> I would just like to say that the chapters keep getting longer and I really hope they find a nice average or this is going to be a 500k story at the rate I'm going. This chapter is around 5k.

**THEN**

“How’s Hollywood? It’s uh… it’s big.” Stiles stood off to one side, keeping his voice low as he spoke into his phone. “Dad, there are so many people here. At least a hundred and fifty, I’d say, and that’s if we’re all in the same place and they haven’t split us up.”

“Well, if there are ten audition locations, and fifteen people make it through from each location, that sounds about right.” His dad’s voice had an echo behind it, and Stiles knew he was on the speakerphone on his dad’s desk at the Sheriff’s office. “How many go through to the live show?”

“Twenty?” Stiles wasn’t really sure. For all that he was going to be on the show, he’d never actually watched a full season of it. He usually watched the auditions and parts of Hollywood if he had time, then came in somewhere during the live show, once it got interesting with the few best left on the stage. “Maybe a few more or less? I’m not positive. Just… not that many of us. And there are cameras everywhere.” He raised a hand, waving to the camera guy that was filming in his direction.

“Got one staring at you right now, don’t you,” Dad said, and it isn’t a question.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Stiles tapped his fingers against his thigh, instinctively reaching for rhythm to calm himself. “Don’t know what the first challenge is yet, just that we’ve got today to rehearse, and we’re performing it before we go back to our rooms.”

Deucalion walked into the room, Jennifer, Kali, and Ennis trailing behind him. He clapped his hands once, sharply.

“Dad, I’ve got to go,” Stiles whispered.

“I still want to hear how things are with your room—” The voice cut off as Stiles ended the call, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Welcome to Hollywood,” Deucalion said, his clipped tones ringing loudly in the room. Conversations fell silent, and contestants moved into small knotted groups with scattered single people around the edges.

Stiles was uncomfortable knowing that he was one of those singletons. It’s not like this was _Survivor_—he didn’t depend on these people to keep himself from getting voted off the island. But he needed allies for the group challenges, and he didn’t really know anyone yet.

Hopefully they’d start out solo.

“It’s wonderful to see all of you,” Jennifer chirped, that sweet smile lifting her lips with false cheer. “We’ve got a really great and intense few days planned for you, and at the end, the twenty-four finalists will be going on a trip to Disneyland to bond. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

A low murmur rumbled through the room.

Stiles’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he resisted pulling it out. It might be his best friend, or it could be Derek. Either way, he’d only left home last night and he already ached with missing his husband and daughter and it was frustrating to think that he had to ignore them right then.

He was doing it for them.

Kali stepped forward as Jennifer made space for her. She made no pretense of being sweet, her smile sharp as a predator as her gaze swept the room. “There are one hundred and eighty two of you,” she said. “Tomorrow, half of you will be gone, and most of the rest will be on thin ice. I’d like you to think about your odds. Out of that one hundred and eighty two, only twenty-four will remain at the end of the week. If you’re standing in a group, look at the people you’re with. Chances are, only one of you will still be here. You have a one in seven chance. This isn’t just about talent. You need to be ready to work hard, and to check your ego at the door.”

“Easy enough to do if I don’t have one to start with,” Stiles muttered under his breath. The woman to his right huffed a soft laugh, flashing a quick grin when he glanced at her.

“It’s not about letting go of ego,” she whispered. “It’s knowing how to use it, and not letting it get in the way.”

Stiles made a small noise of assent and let it go. He didn’t want to miss what Deucalion was explaining about the challenge.

“I have a list here of thirty songs. Each song may be selected by only six people.” He held a tablet in the air, then indicated the tablets also held by staff around the room. “Once a song has been selected by the appropriate number of people, it will be unavailable. You then must find two other people with the same song. There will be two groups of three performing each song. You will live or die as a group in this round. The top thirty groups go through. The bottom thirty go home.”

On the other side of the room a boy who couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen raised his hand. Jennifer touched Deucalion’s shoulder, and Deucalion glared at the boy. “Yes?”

“You said there are one hundred and eighty two of us. That only is enough spots for one hundred and eighty.”

“I see someone here can do basic maths,” Deucalion said dryly. “The remaining two will work together, and will be given no choice in the song they do. We will assign it. So choose quickly, and choose wisely.”

Stiles didn’t wait for the announcement to finish. He made his way to the nearest staff member and asked to look at the list on her tablet. He grinned when he found Styx’s “Renegade” and had it claimed before Deucalion released them.

It gave him time to get out of the way before the stampede. He pulled out his drumsticks, rolling them through his fingers before idly tapping a rhythm against his thighs while waiting for things to get a little less chaotic so he can find a partner or two.

“This is a hell of a way to get started.”

Stiles stopped drumming so he didn’t knock into Liam. “Dumping us in the deep end,” he said. “Pretty much expected that, from what I’ve watched. Kind of like Jennifer has the heart of a viper, and Ennis is actually kind of a marshmallow if you hit the right emotional chords.” He gestured as he spoke, then made a circular motion with the tip of his drumstick. “And this is designed to start us out off-balance. Kind of like being dumped in a room with some kid I don’t know.”

“Six years. I’m six years younger than you, and it hasn’t been all that bad,” Liam said.

“We’re getting along,” Stiles agreed. As surprise roommates went, Liam was clean and neat and didn’t snore. Stiles had stayed with worse. At least they had separate beds, and the payment for the two shows that air should cover the credit card bill after the hotel costs came due.

Stiles didn’t expect this to be so damned expensive.

“What’d you pick?” Liam asked.

Stiles was still watching the crowd, trying to guess which people are picking which songs. He’d gone for something classic, old enough that he remembered his mom loving it when she was alive. “‘Renegade’, by Styx,” he replied distractedly.

“Want to work together?”

“I was just going to ask the same thing.” Someone draped themselves over Stiles’s back, and he shook her off, turning around to find the woman who spoke to him before. “Seems like all three of us have the same song which—instant group. The only question is: are you both good enough that you won’t drag me down?”

“That’s not the problem,” Stiles corrected her. “This is a show about individuals, but they’re testing us as a group. That means we have to both mesh and stand out at the same time. Check your ego long enough to be a group and blend, but then we each have to take our time in the front. This is a song with strong harmonies, so standing out could be tricky.”

“We’ll need to work out choreography and timing. Figure out how we want to arrange it,” Liam said.

“I can do that. I’m Malia.” She stuck her hand out, and Stiles took it first, squeezing lightly before letting go.

“Stiles. This is my roommate, Liam.”

“I’ve got a really good feeling about this,” Malia said. She moved between them, got an arm around their shoulders and started walking. “Put those drumsticks away for now. We need to go find ourselves a corner to rehearse in, and I heard the rooms we’re staying in are off-limits so we don’t bother anyone else in the hotel.” She glanced back. “And we’ve already got our first shadow. Wave to the camera girl, everyone!”

It was a different person than had been watching Stiles before, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that the camera was trained directly on them. He lifted one hand, wiggled his fingers, and the woman behind the camera waved back.

This was going to be weird.

#

They rehearsed for two hours, then they finally got a break. Stiles’s phone vibrated as soon as they paused, and he pulled it out, staring down at the messages across the screen. He’d had two missed calls from Derek, and this was Scott calling now. He hesitated, thumb over the screen.

“Go on and get it. Malia and I will go get something for us to eat and bring it back.” Liam grabbed Malia and they headed out together.

Stiles took advantage of the quiet to pick up the phone. “Hey, Scott.”

Multiple dogs barked in the background, and Stiles swore he heard at least one cat yowling before Scott started talking. “Hey, Stiles. I’m on a break and I thought I’d call to check in. Thought I’d get your voice mail, actually,” Scott said easily. “How’s it going? Working hard?”

“Trying not to blow out my voice in the first day,” Stiles replied. He turned and leaned back against the wall. He waved at the camera woman, hoping she wasn’t filming his conversation, but of course, she had the camera pointed right at him. “It’s a group performance today, and I’m working with my roommate, Liam, and this girl we met today, Malia. It’s actually coming together quickly. We mesh really well.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There was an energy between the three of them, and Stiles felt surprisingly comfortable. He’d never been that comfortable in groups when it comes to music, and he liked the change. “There are over one hundred and eighty of us here,” he said quietly. “After tonight, there’ll only be ninety.”

“When does this episode air?” Scott asked.

“Tomorrow. We’re under a gag order and can’t talk about it until it’s on the air.” Stiles smiled slightly. “I’m planning on watching it with Derek. Rosie’s going to stay up late for it. Of course, I’ll already know how it ends. We’ll have had a whole extra day, if we make it through.”

“Wouldn’t Derek know, if you came home? Isn’t that kind of a spoiler for everyone, if their loved ones come home?” Scott sounded confused, and Stiles could imagine his expression: head tilted and brow slightly furrowed.

Stiles shook his head. “Because they’ve decided to air this week almost live—just one day after each event—we all have to stay the whole week, whether we get to move on or not. But we’re also all getting paid for both episodes, even if we’re cut after the first one. So I guess it’ll be okay in the end.”

“Well, man, I hope you get through.” In the background, someone called Scott’s name, and he inhaled roughly. “Shit, dude, I’ve got to go. Deaton’s yelling, and I think he had that black lab that’s hard to handle in exam 3. I’d better get to him quick.”

“Yeah, got it. I know how it is.” Stiles barely had time to get the words out before the sound went dead, Scott already gone. He looked down at the silent phone. “I know exactly how it is,” he muttered.

He pulled up Derek’s number, but it was the middle of the day, and he had no idea if Derek would even be available. Obviously Rosie was in daycare, but it was Derek he wanted to talk to even more.

He was still looking at the phone when Liam and Malia returned, box lunches in hand.

“We just picked three different ones and figured we could all share,” Liam said.

They’ve been camped out in a corner of the lobby they staked out immediately after the morning meeting. There were two potted plants half hiding them from the rest of the lobby, and when the camera woman was in place, she blocked any other view. A round ottoman was somewhat in the way, but they’d been managing to work around it, and in that moment, it became a handy table.

Malia spread out napkins across it, and Liam methodically broke the cardboard boxes into flat surfaces so they could spread out the contents of all three lunches. Deciding who got what was as easy as working together on the song had been, and it was good to take a break and just talk for a little while.

Liam had come in from the Philadelphia audition, but he was actually from central New York. “Mom is pretty pissed off at me for this,” he admitted. “I’m supposed to be in the middle of my final semester at Plattsburgh, and instead I’m here. She thought I’d get it out of my system by minoring in music, but I just figured, why not audition? There’s no guarantee I’ll go through. So my best friend and I took a road trip down and here I am.” He spread his hands. “She’s pissed off, and I’m not a college graduate yet, and who knows what the future holds, right?”

“It’s one week,” Malia said around a mouthful of cookies. “You’re not missing that much. Even if we go on, just defer or whatever. There’s still time to get a degree later. Do this while you’re in your prime.”

“Do your parents care that you’re throwing away everything to be here?” Liam countered. “Mine have been paying for me to go to college and for my apartment. They pull my funding, I’m broke. If this doesn’t pan out, I’m probably homeless.”

“My parents are dead,” Malia said, her tone flat. She picked up one of the few apple slices left and used it to point with. “So no, they don’t care. They didn’t care about me when I was a kid, either, or else they wouldn’t have gotten high as a kite and gone out for a joyride and ended up wrapping their car around a tree and in a ditch. I mean. Impressive, A for effort, for ending up both in a ditch and a tree at the same time. But not all that helpful to the kid they left behind. I went into the system and I just quit a job at the dollar store so I could come here because they didn’t want to give me vacation. I have no idea what I’m doing next. My roommate said she could cover maybe a month’s rent, but not more than that. So you might be homeless if your parents give up on you, but I am literally going to be homeless in a month, in debt up to my ears, and I have no way of paying any of this back. So.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’m going to win.”

“Anything in the top five pretty much guarantees a recording contract,” Liam countered. “I’m happy just to get to the live show, so that’s my goal. I want to make top ten so I can go out on tour and earn that money and show my mom that music is where I belong.”

Stiles couldn’t help it; he was curious enough to ask. “You said music is your minor. What’s your major?”

Liam flushed. “Bio,” he muttered, like it was embarrassing. “My folks want me to be a doctor, like my step-dad. He’s a good guy, and a good doctor, it’s just not what I want to do.”

“You’re the kind of guy who could get into med school, and you’re here instead?” Malia asked, incredulous. “That’s a special kind of—”

“I hate biology!” Liam shouted. He leaned forward, and Malia just stared back at him, then nudged him with a finger. Liam sat back, arms crossed. “I hate bio. I don’t want to be a doctor. I can’t imagine being in the ER all the time, setting broken bones for kids who were stupid like me in high school.”

“I’m guessing you were that kid who was accident prone,” Stiles said, smirking when Liam shrugged.

“What about you?” Malia knocked into him, then leaned against Stiles’s shoulder, her head tilted back.

There’s a soft whir, and when Stiles glanced over the camera was closer to them.

“What about me?” Stiles asked quietly. “I’m twenty-eight, and I think I’m one of the oldest people here.” He hesitated, then said slowly, “I’m married to a great guy, and we have a kid.” He waited, just in case either of them had a bad reaction to that. Liam merely gave him a thumbs up, while Malia threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“That’s awesome,” she said before sitting back. She wrapped her arm around his, patting his hand. “And what do you do when you’re not singing your heart out for judges who hate everyone?”

“I teach music to a whole bunch of little kids who call me Mr. Stiles,” he said. Just thinking about the kids at Halcyon Elementary made him smile. He wondered if they’d get to see any of his performances, assuming he made it past this week.

His phone buzzed again, and when he pulled it out, Derek’s name was on the screen.

“Is that him?” Malia asked, as she answered the phone for him. “Hello, Derek, this is Stiles’s new friend, Malia. Are you as awesome as he is?”

Derek’s voice sounded tinny through the speaker. “No one is quite like Stiles.”

“In other words, he’s better,” Stiles said. He reached for his phone, taking it off speaker. “Hey, Derek. We’re on a short break from rehearsing.”

“I figured you were busy and that was why you hadn’t called back yet. Working hard?”

“Why is that the first question anyone asks?” Stiles whined. “It’s like you all think I’m a slacker or something.”

“I heard that you take naps when you don’t have a class scheduled,” Derek murmured. “I know you and your love of sleep.”

Stiles huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to be doing a lot of that here. We rehearse for this challenge all day, perform tonight, half of us get eliminated, and if we move on, we’ll be rehearsing all night for the next challenge. They call it a week, but it really only lasts about three days and I think it’s as much about endurance and figuring out what they want as it is about singing.”

“That is an incredibly adult attitude,” Malia commented, as Liam pulled her off the ottoman. She yelled as she walked backwards, “Bye, Derek! Liam and I are going to go talk to the camera person!”

“You made friends,” Derek said quietly.

“I actually made friends, yeah, and I haven’t driven them nuts yet, but it’s only been most of a day,” Stiles said. He unfolded himself and moved to the other side of their little corner, as far from Liam, Malia, and the camera as he could get. “Liam’s my roommate, and he’s a good kid. Malia—well, I’m still getting to know her, but she seems a lot like me. She’s the kind of person that other people could find abrasive.”

“Yeah, sounds a lot like you,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles laughed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Derek was silent for a long moment before saying softly. “Kick their asses, Stiles. I know you can figure out what they want and give it to them. Just remember, Rosie and I are waiting to see you on the live show next week. So, tell me. How are they trying to psych you out this time?”

Because underneath it all, this contest was a game, and Stiles was really good at games, so he was going to win. He thought he had it figured out for this round. “Every song on the list was by a group that relied heavily on harmony,” he said. “So we need to blend, and we need to do it perfectly. But we also need to arrange it in a way that we stand out, so we all look like superstars. It’s going to be tricky, because the songs weren’t meant to be used like this.”

“So things like the Everly Brothers,” Derek commented.

“And Styx. We’re doing ‘Renegade,’” Stiles said. As well as the group worked together, it still made him nervous. He hummed a little under his breath, taking his beat from the low inhale and exhale he could hear from Derek.

“Got your drumsticks?” Derek asked. He waited a moment, as Stiles nodded, then continued as if he’d seen the answer. “Okay, pull them out. Give me the opening beat, and a few bars.”

Stiles was dimly aware of the returning focus of the camera woman, and of Liam and Malia drifting closer. He set the phone down on the ottoman and switched it to speaker, then pulled his drumsticks out. He gave them an experimental tap against the ottoman, but it didn’t have the depth of sound that he wanted. He shifted to using the thicker end of the stick, along the side of the ottoman where it echoed faintly.

That’s it.

He opened his mouth to sing, and it felt a little like magic when Malia and Liam joined in.

#

“How do you feel about your performance tonight?” The interviewer’s name tag said Braeden, and she had a microphone shoved close to Stiles’s face. Their new friend the camera woman was behind her, and Stiles knew that he really should get her name if she was going to stick with them.

Most of the cameras had been moving around, switching from group to group, but this woman stayed loyal to Stiles, Malia, and Liam. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad. Maybe they were just that entertainingly awful.

“Nervous,” he said honestly, because there was a churning in his gut that made him think that the pizza he ate an hour ago might make a reappearance.

Malia had an arm around his back, her chin resting on shoulder as she stood on tiptoes, her body pressed to his back. She patted his chest with her other hand. “Stiles is a star,” she said with an easy grin before she rubbed her cheek against his. “Him and me and Liam? We’re going to make it through together. I’m pretty sure I can do anything with this guy.” She winked, and whispered loudly, “Anything.”

“Married,” Stiles replied dryly, before singing quietly, “_I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that_.”

“Spoilsport,” Malia said before she laughed out loud. She patted his chest again and stepped away. “You know I don’t mean it, right?”

That was the thing; Stiles trusted her completely. “I know you don’t mean it, and honestly, a good flirt is a great way to settle nerves,” he said. “Dance off, drumming, physical affection that doesn’t cross boundaries. It’s all good.”

“Why is no one flirting with me?” Liam muttered. Malia wrapped her arms around him, kissing him with a smack on the cheek. Liam flushed. “Okay, I’ll take that.”

“You three have gotten close today,” Braeden observed. The camera swung around to the side, zooming in as Malia wrapped herself around Stiles again.

He might as well just go with it. He put an arm around her back, tugged her closer as her head tipped against his shoulder. “We have gotten close,” Stiles said. “It’s been a great day of rehearsals and I think that we really clicked. I can’t imagine working with anyone else.”

One of the producers stuck his head through the curtains. “I need you in the wings. You’re on deck.”

“I guess I’ll have to let you go, then.” Braeden waved them off. “Break a leg.”

“Not literally,” Liam muttered under his breath. “I hope.”

Staying still was not an option once they were in the wings. Stiles paced, tapping out the beat of the Everly Brothers’ “Wake up Little Susie” as the group before them performed it. Good, he thought, but not great. No one stood out in a way that would make him put them through. He didn’t listen to the judging after, his hands cupped over his ears to tune them out.

He didn’t want to know how harsh they would be. This is Hollywood, not the auditions. No one was going to coo over Derek and Rosie. No one was going to be impressed by his life in any way. He had no edge here other than his own voice.

They just had to go out and kick ass.

As soon as the stage was cleared, they went out as a group, and production handed a sheet to the judges where they sat at a long table in the front row seats of the back section of the auditorium.

Stiles gave an experimental thump of his heel on the stage, pleased when it echoed exactly like he thought it would between the hollow space beneath the floor, and the acoustics in the auditorium.

Deucalion looked up at the sound. “I take it you are ready to begin.”

“Just doing a quick sound check,” Stiles said. He grabbed Malia and Liam, pointing at the ceiling above them, and the way the tiles curved. He thought he knew how to angle their voices properly to get the best sound to the judges. “Most auditoriums are set so if you hit the right spot with your voice, the best sound is in the center, right where they’re sitting. So keep your head up, aim high, and they’ll hear you,” he whispered.

“Any time you’re ready,” Deucalion said dryly. “Unless you’d rather we continue to wait.”

They took up their spaces, Liam at the front, facing forward, Malia and Stiles flanking him and slightly behind, facing backwards. Stiles hummed the starting note under his breath.

“_Oh, Mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law,_” Liam sang out, his voice echoing perfectly. On the last syllable, Stiles thumped his heel down, striking the distinctive bass beat of the song. Liam came back in with the second line as Stiles and Malia turned slowly to face the center. “_Lawman has put an end to my running and I’m so far from my home_.”

Thump thump-thump. Thump thump-thump.

Malia and Stiles joined their voices to Liam’s in perfect harmony, the acoustics helping them blend. “_Oh, Mama, I can hear you a-cryin’, you’re so sad and all alone. Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don’t have very long._”

“Yeah!” Liam punched the air on the word, slipping back to vacate his space for Malia as they rolled into the chorus.

Stiles kept the beat as they moved through their choreography, sometimes with a bursting clap of his hands, or thump against his own thighs, sometimes with the deep bass of his heel against the stage. The chorus was fast and rolling, first with Malia singing, then Stiles, then back to all three of them for the final lines. They hit the verse with Liam first, then Malia, then joined together on the chorus with Stiles creating the beat with his hand.

It all fell away when they left Stiles at the front, facing the judges. Malia and Liam lifted up and dropped, their heels softly matching the low echoing thump that Stiles had set in motion.

Thump thump-thump. Thump thump-thump.

Pace slowed down as Stiles raised his voice, let it ring out, slow and haunting. “_Oh, Mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law. Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don’t have very long._”

He was out of breath, his body vibrating from the impact of using it for percussion, and from the energy still singing through his muscles. The echo faded, and then Malia jumped on his back, hugging him from behind, while Liam whooped.

“I see that you’re pleased with your performance,” Deucalion said.

“There was a lot of energy behind everything you did, even the slow parts.” Jennifer raised her hands, the applause visible as the sharp taps rang out.

“Interesting choreography and arrangement.” Kali leaned forward. “You did an excellent job showcasing blending, harmony, and ensuring that you all had a chance to shine. You have chemistry.”

Ennis grabbed his microphone, leaned close, and rumbled, “Good job.”

From Ennis that was high praise and Stiles would take it.

“Of course, nothing is set until tonight.” Deucalion motioned to the side of the stage. “Go and relax. We still have several other groups to see. You will be sent a message with a room to report to in approximately one hour. Do not be late.”

Liam stalked off the stage, head held high, a spring in his step. “I think we did good,” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to go call my best friend. I’ll meet you in our corner.”

Their corner, as if no one else could claim it.

Stiles was a little surprised to find out that no one else had.

“Do you need to call anyone?” he asked Malia. “I could give you some privacy.” Or as much as they could manage anyway, with the camera right there, hovering close by.

She shook her head. “No one important. How about you? You want to call someone?” She didn’t say his name, but Stiles assumed she meant Derek.

And hell yes, he wanted to call Derek. He desperately wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice, to slowly come down from the high of performing while listening to Derek speak.

But it was already after ten, and he knew Derek had had a long day, and he’d had to handle Rosie’s evening routines on his own, and he was probably already asleep. Stiles shook his head slowly. “I’m going to talk to him and Rosie tomorrow. We’re going to watch the episode air together.”

“Mm.” Malia slid down on the ottoman, curling up into a ball so her head was in Stiles’s lap. She patted his thigh. “I’m going to take a little nap right here. Wake me when it’s time for judgment.”

Derek may have joked about Stiles being able to sleep anywhere, but that wasn’t quite the truth. Napping between classes at the school was one thing. He was safe there. The only interruptions came in the forms of five to eleven year olds who were excited to sing and play classroom-owned musical instruments that made a lot of noise and rhythm.

He wasn’t safe here at all. In fact, that might have been his one and only shot. In a couple hours, it could be all over, and he could be going home.

Malia’s breath went soft and easy, and Stiles stroked his fingers through her hair, focusing on that. Because if he didn’t, he could feel his own breath rasping in his chest, and he didn’t want to get worked up about this.

They were going to go through. He had to do this, for Derek and Rosie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the long wait! I'm not sure when the next chapter will come. While I do have a half chapter drafted... it's not the one that comes after this one. Whoops? I'm saving writing this as a reward for getting the harder original work done, and the harder original work is back to mystifying me again for some reason. ANYWAY. thank you for being here, and thank you for being patient with a very randomly timed WIP. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a few tags (Depression, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, and Triggers) to the fic. Description will be in the end notes for anyone who needs spoilers about those particular tags.
> 
> Also, HI. It has been more than two months, and I have been struggling a LOT in life in general, and I'm really sorry. BUT. I have foun a way that allows me to do the original writing I need to do, and the fic writing I want to do, and so far it's going pretty well, and I'm happy about it. That said, both this chapter AND the next one are complete, so look for another update in a couple weeks.

**NOW**

_I’d like it if you come over for dinner, son._

Stiles stares at the text on his phone. He should’ve answered it hours ago. Like when he first got up, and it was waiting for him, probably sent while his dad was having breakfast. Or maybe after he swam several laps to tire himself out, or after he walked the dog (and cat) twice.

But it’s been easy to put it out of his head, just like it was easy to not think about seeing Derek the night before.

He didn’t see Derek. He hasn’t heard from his dad. He’s not going to talk about any of it.

“So, when are we going?” Malia has an arm over his shoulder, and Stiles has no idea when she came into the sunroom.

Nurse is in his lap, lax with sleep, and Dex lies at his feet, belly up, one leg idly running through a dream. The sun seems lower than Stiles remembers, and he’s not sure how the time slipped away.

“Going?” he asks.

Malia presses her cheek against his, reaches over his shoulder to tap the screen. “Going,” she says. “To see your Dad and Melissa. You need moral support, so I’ll go with you.”

Stiles locks the phone and the screen goes blank. “I’m not going, and even if I do go, you’re not coming with me.” His movement disturbs the cat, and her claws dig through his jeans, into his thighs to hold on when he shifts. He grabs onto her, steadying her before he starts bleeding, and she shifts her efforts to kneading him instead. It’s only slightly less painful.

“Why not?” Malia slips away to grab one of the high-backed rattan chairs from a nearby table. She swings it around and sits on it backwards, her chin propped on her hands atop the back of it. “It’s not like we haven’t met before. They won’t be awed by me, and you’ll have someone around if you—if it gets tough.”

She doesn’t say _if they mention Derek_, but she might has well have.

“You realize you’re only going to remind them of all the things they’re pissed at me about,” he mutters dryly. Because she’s Malia. His dad was never quite as bad as Scott, but it’s been close.

“Unlock your phone and tell them we’ll be over tonight. Offer to bring um… Italian. From that place you told me you used to love.” Malia jabs a hand at his phone. “Go on. Do it. You can spoil them rotten. We’ll pick up good wine. Or beer. Whichever they’d prefer.”

When he hesitates, she points again. “I know your passcode, so either you do it, or I’ll tell them we’re bringing the whole band by so they can show us all your baby pictures. If you respond now, it’ll just be me digging into that old bedroom of yours filled with teenage angst.”

“Oh, so that’s the real reason.” Stiles unlocks the phone, shielding it from her before she can make a grab for it. “You just want to see my angsty roots.”

They flirt and tease like it’s habit, and at this point it probably is. The funny thing is, Malia’s probably telling the truth about wanting to see where he came from. They’re good friends. She’s one of his best friends, and he can’t imagine life without her.

He also can’t imagine her in his childhood home, sitting in his old bedroom where he used to daydream and where once upon a time he used to make out with his high school boyfriend.

He can’t imagine himself setting foot in that room any time soon, either.

_Malia and I will come over tonight,_ he sends back. _We’ll pick up dinner at Mercato’s. Any requests?_

There’s a really good sautéed vegetable thing he remembers. He can get that for his dad.

_Melissa’s cooking. Figured you might just show up, so she’s got soup in the slow cooker, and we just need to make some rice after we get home. Pick up a loaf of bread on your way and we’ll call it good._

Oh. Stiles doesn’t know what to think about that. “They don’t want us to bring anything but bread,” he says. It feels like a rejection to not be allowed to spend money on his father and stepmother.

“We’ll still pick up wine,” Malia decides. “Go on, go walk the dog one more time before we go. Who knows how late we’ll be out?”

#

Stiles shoots a text to Brett while he’s walking Dex, asking Brett to make sure the Jeep is gassed up and ready to go. As soon as he returns, Nurse shoots up the stairs, Dex chasing after her, and Stiles winds his way to the back of the house, heading for the garage. He’s surprised to see Brett waiting by the Jeep, one hand on the pristine hood.

“She’s in good shape,” Brett says, as Stiles approaches.

“I’ve paid a lot of money for her to be that way,” Stiles admits. “She broke down every other day when I was in high school. She’s a classic, and I probably should keep her off the road. But I don’t want to stare at her longingly while I drive some hyped up expensive car. I like my Jeep.”

“I get it.” Brett slides his hand along the hood, his expression reverent. “My dad had this Mustang when I was little. Before I went into the system. He didn’t fix it up himself, but he made sure it was in great shape, and that car was like magic to me. I’m not the greatest mechanic in the world, but I’m pretty good, because someday I’m going to find the right classic and fix it up myself.” He glances to the side, and Stiles spots an old Nissan, the front quarter panel a different color than the rest of the car.

“I figured you for a Porsche kind of guy,” Stiles says idly.

Brett laughs, the sound cutting off abruptly. “Remember how I went into the system? That life went away before I got my license. After Liam moved away, though.”

“He was a dick, right?” Stiles doesn’t think Liam’s a dick at all. In fact he doesn’t think either of them is a bad person, but it’s obvious there’s some bad blood between them. “I didn’t know he grew up around here.”

“It was a little north of here, up in the Eagle Hills part of Beacon County,” Brett says. “We both went to the same private school, and we were both richer than snot. He had a temper, too, and we played lacrosse and we fought all the fucking time.”

“Were you best friends when you were five, and mortal enemies by the time you were twelve, too?” Stiles asks. This story sounds all too familiar, aside from the idea that both protagonists were rich in this case.

It’s also… huh. He pulls out his phone, opens a file and scribbles down _you never grow out of_ then stumbles to a stop halfway through the thought. He tucks the phone away, not sure where he’d been going with that and wondering if maybe he’ll get lucky enough to find the thought again later.

One of these days he needs to write an album’s worth of songs. Preferably before they have to record them.

When he looks up again, Brett is quiet. The haughty, tight expression is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like concern.

Stiles does not need concern from the staff. Friendship, maybe. Bonding over love for his Jeep definitely. But not concern.

“So, childhood frenemies with Liam,” he prompts. He pushes past Brett to get the door to the Jeep open, tossing his wallet into the center console so it doesn’t annoy him in his pocket.

Brett steps back, pushing the door shut for Stiles. “Tank’s full, so as long as you aren’t planning a major road trip, you should be fine.” He leans on the edge of the open window. “And yes. We had a falling out. He moved away. We never spoke again.”

“Until now,” Stiles points out. He twists the key and the Jeep rumbles to life. He loves how she purrs rather than grumbling; it was worth the cost of the engine rebuild.

“Coincidence is a funny thing,” Brett says tightly. “Lori got the job and I figured it sounded like a good thing. Mostly I blame your Jeep. Hayden said that taking care of the cars would be part of my job and I really like this Jeep.”

“Well, thanks for the care you’ve given her, and please make sure to take her out and exercise her when we’re on the road,” he says, lifting one hand to wave Brett back so he can pull out. Malia should be waiting out front by the time he gets there.

Stiles is pretty sure Brett’s lying. It all sounds good on paper, that it’s just one giant coincidence that he happened to be here and Liam’s here as well.

But Stiles knows the paperwork that the staff had to sign. He knows about the non-disclosure agreements, and the very specific explanations of who they’d be working for and what they could say—and not say—in public. Brett knew about the band, which means he had to know about Liam.

And he’s still here.

It’s a surprise for Liam, sure, but Brett’s presence is very much on purpose.

Maybe they aren’t enemies. Maybe it’s a little bit of a love/hate relationship.

Whatever it is, they’ll work it out and it isn’t really any of Stiles’s business, as long as Liam doesn’t go in swinging again.

Lacrosse. Huh.

_You never grow out of the playground crush; we’ve just got bigger sticks to swing now we’re grown._

#

Stiles grabs a thirty dollar bottle of wine that he knows Melissa will like, and puts back a bottle of whiskey that his dad probably doesn’t need. It only takes two autographs before he and Malia can escape from the liquor store.

He’s relieved to get through the bakery with no requests for photographs or signatures. He’s known Mrs. DiTomassi since he was in middle school, and she just smiles and pulls down the biggest loaf of the crusty Italian bread and puts it in a paper bag. Stiles is in the middle of digging out cash to pay—she’s never taken cards for payment—when she stops him with a wag of her finger. He stands there helpless as she boxes up a set of pastries, admonishing, “They’ll just go to waste if you don’t take them. Welcome home.”

As soon as she turns her back, he tucks fifty dollars into the tip jar and hurries out before she can notice and make him take it back.

When they arrive, the house looks the same as it ever has, aside from flowers along the walkway and neater landscaping. He figures either Melissa’s been taking care of things, or she made his dad do it when he claimed boredom from his semi-retirement.

The door opens before they get there, and Melissa holds her arms wide. “Stiles,” she says.

God, it feels good to be home.

He wraps his arms around her, pressing his face against her hair and inhaling the familiar scent. “Mo—Melissa,” he manages, and she just smiles and touches his face. He knows it wouldn’t matter to anyone here if he called her mom, but it feels like he should keep that tiny bit of distance. Especially with how much of a mess his relationship with Scott is. How can Melissa be his mom if Scott’s not his brother anymore?

“We brought wine,” Malia says cheerfully. She waits until Stiles finally lets Melissa go, then pushes past them into the house. She pauses, nose flared, and heads off to the right. “Kitchen’s this way, right? I’ll just go find an opener.”

“Malia—”

Dad’s in the way before Stiles can follow her, yanking Stiles into a hard hug, clapping his back. “She’ll be fine, son,” he mumbles. “Can’t do that much damage in the next five minutes, can she?”

“You’ve never seen Malia in a kitchen.” It doesn’t matter, though. Stilinskis are huggers and this is something that Stiles has missed. For these few minutes, he’s a teenager again, and this is just his dad, and no one’s famous.

For these few minutes, it really does feel like coming home.

“Do you have a cutting board?” Malia calls out. She walks into the living room brandishing a chef’s knife. “Stiles gets pissy when I cut things on the countertops.”

“Jesus, Malia, don’t wreck the place. We just got here.” Stiles disengages from his dad and quickly gets the knife out of Malia’s hand. “Wrong knife, and please tell me you didn’t try to cut the cork out.”

“I didn’t try to cut the cork out,” she parrots obediently. “It didn’t work the last time, and besides, this wine might not be the cheap kind but it’s still got a twist top and plastic cork thingy, so we’re good there. I couldn’t find glasses or I would’ve opened it and poured it for everyone.”

“You’re our guest,” Melissa reminds them. She eases past Stiles, and he passes her the knife on the way. Melissa sticks it back on the magnetic rack, exchanging it for a long serrated bread knife instead. “John, if you could bring out the soup, I’ll get the bread and butter ready. Malia, help Stiles carry out the wine and glasses.”

Stiles holds up his hand with four fingers spread, and when Melissa nods, he gets four glasses from the cabinet. He hands two to Malia, and carries the other two with the wine out to the table. He’s just got it open when Dad emerges with the inner crock from the slow cooker to set on a trivet in the center of the table. Stiles pours a glass for Malia first, and points her to a chair to get her out of the way. There’s a salad in a small bowl that’s set into a larger bowl in front of her.

She leans forward, calling out, “It smells really good.”

“It is really good,” Dad confides. “Melissa can do things with beans and chicken and greens that I never dreamed would taste as good as they do.”

Melissa comes out with a bowl of brown rice in one hand, and the bread basket in the other. “It’s just a white bean soup, but it’s healthy and lower in sodium, so yes, Stiles, we’re keeping an eye on his heart.” She kisses Dad’s forehead before she takes her own seat, and Stiles finally sits as well.

Dad’s watching Melissa with a fond smile, while Malia digs into her salad without waiting.

“She’s good to me,” Dad says.

Stiles almost chokes on his salad. “If you start making out like teenagers in front of me, I’m leaving.”

“He’s gotten some good habits now.” Melissa glances over at Malia. “Just set the salad aside when you’re done and take some rice and soup. There’s some parmesan if you’d like it, or cracked pepper.”

Stiles can see how she’s tricked him into less salt. The parmesan still has that punchy taste, but it’s nowhere near as full of sodium as if Dad just emptied a salt shaker into his soup. Nicely done.

“I run in the mornings,” Dad admits. “Since I’ve got time now. I’ve been doing some volunteering at the school. After all, I’ve got a granddaughter to live for.”

_Will you be there in the morning? Will you live for me tonight?_

The lyrics float through his mind, pieces of a song he never finished or recorded.

Stiles sets his fork down. He picks up his salad and moves it aside; chewing lettuce sounds too complicated right now. He reaches for the rice, putting a small amount under one ladle full of soup in his bowl. “I can see you’re a good influence on him,” he says to Melissa. “You’re better at getting him to eat healthy than I ever was.”

“All it takes is one reminder from Rosie,” Dad says, gesturing with his fork. “She’s stubborn. She stole my cookies once, claiming they’d make me sick, but I think she just wanted my cookies.”

“Derek told her about you being diabetic and that you weren’t supposed to be eating cookies,” Melissa says gently.

“You’re diabetic now?” Stiles has no idea when that happened. “You didn’t mention—”

“It’s been what, two, three years now?” Dad shakes his head. “It meant some changes, but it helped drive it home that it’s a matter of life and death how I eat, and like I said, I’ve got someone to live for.”

Stiles swallows hard, the soup thick in his throat. “Rosie,” he says.

“Does Derek still send you pictures?” Dad reaches for his phone, swiping it open. He scrolls through his pictures and holds the phone up to show Stiles.

There she is, looking so grown up in leggings and a long t-shirt that declares her Princess Queen Bee, with a bee with rainbow wings. Her sneakers are high top sparkly rainbows as well, and she poses while blowing a kiss at the camera.

“First day of school,” Dad says proudly. “Derek sent it to me.”

Oh.

The spoon clatters against the plate. Stiles is standing, his heart thundering in his chest, his vision narrowed and cloudy grey. He thinks someone says something, but he can’t tell what. He raises his hands and turns, and next thing he knows he’s three streets over, arms wrapped around his center as he walks quickly down the street.

Shit.

His steps slow, then stop. Yeah. This is Fairchild Drive, and he has absolutely no memory of how he got here.

At least he’s walking, not driving the Jeep like this.

“Hey.”

He jumps at the word and light touch on his shoulder, one hand swinging out as Malia ducks backwards. She holds her hands up. “I was going to ask if you’re okay, but I’m thinking you’re not,” she says.

He’s definitely not.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” He raises his hands, lowers them again, not sure what he was going to do. Or say. He has no idea what’s inside his head and every time his tries the thoughts just flee.

“We should probably go back.”

Stiles can think of a lot of reasons that would be a bad idea. For one, he’s embarrassed as fuck and he doesn’t want to face Dad and Melissa after this… could he really call it an outburst? He doesn’t remember saying anything. Maybe it was more of a tantrum. Either way, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

He also doesn’t want to repeat it.

Still, he says, “We can go back.” There isn’t really anything else he can do.

The door is closed when they get there, but Malia opens it and walks in like she lives there. “I found him!” she calls out.

Dad’s sitting on the couch in the living room, Melissa perched on the edge next to him, their hands tangled together. Melissa rises first, catching him and pulling him in. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles knows the right things to say. “Derek and I haven’t talked much since the divorce. He’s got sole custody. He doesn’t exactly text me on a daily basis.” Or send pictures of their daughter. Stiles knows he was the one in the wrong. He knows he doesn’t deserve to have Rosie in his life anymore. He dealt with that long ago.

“You shouldn’t have sprung it on him like that,” Malia says, her tone sharpening. “That was rude.”

“They didn’t know.” Stiles doesn’t want her to fight with them. He doesn’t want to open up old wounds, or make coming home worse. “It’s okay, Malia.”

“Honey.” Melissa frames his face, looks at him closely. Her thumb smoothes across his brow, then lightly touches the dark circles under his eyes. She can’t see them, at least, he’s pretty sure they’re still hidden. He’s gotten good at that. But she’s Melissa, and she’s always been a little psychic about things like that. Maybe it’s because she’s a nurse.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I’m sorry I ran out like that. The soup was good.”

“John, why don’t you pack up some of the soup for them to take home. They’re probably existing on takeout,” Melissa says. “I’m going to take Stiles upstairs for a moment.”

“Why?” It shouldn’t be a big deal. This was his home, once. His room is at the top of the stairs, to the right. There’s a tree outside that he could reach from the window and that he used to sneak out more than once when he was a teenager. He knows this place, and it’s… his feet stick to the floor as Melissa tugs on his hand.

She sighs sadly. “How about your dad’s office?” she asks.

Stiles thinks that maybe he can do that. He hears Malia in the kitchen with his dad and a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t leave them alone together. The other part of him is moving in slow motion steps down the hall, and he feels like the world hasn’t quite come back to reality around him.

He sits when Melissa sits, the two of them facing each other in leather covered chairs. The door is closed and the room feels cold and too silent.

Stiles pushes halfway to his feet. “Want me to put on the fire?”

“Sit down.” Melissa waits until he does, her gaze never leaving his face. “I’m worried about you. What happened back there—”

“It was nothing,” Stiles brushes it off, like he didn’t just lose some time. He doesn’t even know how long it took for him to walk, or for Malia to catch up with him. It couldn’t have been that long, could it have?

“Have you seen Derek since you’ve been back?”

He’s on his feet before he realizes it, halfway to the door. Melissa moves more quickly than him somehow, her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. He lets her manhandle him as he struggles to get his breath under control. “Sure,” he finally says. “He was driving by. I saw them both as they went whoosh.” He uses his hand to mimic Derek’s abrupt acceleration. “I’m not back here for them anyway.”

“Why did you come back to Beacon Hills?” Her tone is gentle, but he hates the way her words intrude on things he doesn’t want to talk about.

“Dad. You. Scott.” He lets the words come out hard and rough. “I adopted a dog and a cat so now hey, I have furry children. Our house has a pool, and a studio, and a staff. It’s everything we could’ve had in LA for a third the price, and without the epic commute. It’s perfect, Melissa, so just—let it go, okay?”

“Bet it feels good to take a break.”

Stiles shoots her a sharp look. “It’s always good to take a break between tours.”

Her eyes are soft when she looks at him, sad around the edges with the way her mouth turns down. “You know, if you wanted to talk to someone while you’re between tours, I could help you find a therapist who knows how to keep a secret.”

Stiles doesn’t care about anything she says after _therapist_. “No. I’m fine, thanks. We’ll do dinner again another day, and I’ll be less tired, and maybe we’ll leave out the show and tell,” he says sharply. He pushes to his feet, and this time he makes it to the door because Melissa’s just sitting there, watching him with that disappointed look. He remembers it from when he was a kid and he and Scott would fuck up, and it makes him feel like he’s about six years old.

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “We’ll have you over next time. You can meet the furry grandchildren. Dad’ll love getting more pictures for his phone.”

The door makes a satisfying thunk when he lets it slam behind him, and he tries not to think about how Melissa’s probably still staring at it, that disappointed look on her face.

#

He shoots pool with Brett when he gets back and finds out that Brett is a fucking hustler. Lori laughs and tells him not to think too hard about it, but never bet against him. The game room erupts into chaos when Liam accuses Brett of cheating and Mason manages to separate them before it becomes a physical fight.

Stiles wonders when his band became a bunch of five year olds. It’s exhausting.

“If you punch him,” he says seriously to Liam, “I will not stop him from calling the cops. I will not stop Hayden from calling the cops. If you are abusive to our staff, you will be the front page news on every scandal blog in this country and several others, and I will find a new guitarist and best friend.”

Liam scoffs, a sharp, disgusted noise. “We’re back in Beacon Hills. You already have another best friend.”

Over his life, Stiles has had so many best friends. That asshole, once upon a time, then Scott at a point when they both needed each other desperately. Derek had been both best friend and love of his life all at once. Then he’d gone on that show and met Malia and Liam who both slotted into his life seamlessly.

Stiles drags Liam into a hug, squeezing him hard. “You didn’t replace Scott,” he mutters, even though Scott never understood that. “And he’s not going to replace you.” He doesn’t comment on the dampness in Liam’s eyes when they separate again.

“You look tired.” Liam claps Stiles on the shoulder. “I’ll walk Dex, okay? You go get some sleep.”

“Sure.” Stiles agrees, even though he’s not sure that’s an option. It sounds simple, and as his feet drag on the stairs he thinks that maybe it will actually be that easy. He hears Liam talking to Nurse, trying to convince her to stay behind, then the sharp yowl as the door opens and closes again.

He kind of envies Dex and Nurse. He’s pretty sure they’re the only beings in this household—aside from Mason and Corey whose relationship is legendarily perfect somehow—who have it together.

When he falls into bed, he looks at the face-down picture frame on the nightstand.

“Fuck,” he whispers, touching the back of it.

He picks it up carefully, looking from Derek’s smiling face to Rosie’s gummy baby smile. A shudder rolls through him and for just a moment he thinks he might cry but he’s not sure how to start, or if he’d ever be able to stop if he did.

“I think I need help,” he tells the pictures. They don’t judge him and he’s thankful for that, because he’s not sure he could say it out loud to anyone else right now. He scrunches his eyes shut, inhales roughly and shudders again. “I don’t know how, but I think I need help. I just—I don’t want to be in the news. I don’t want to start all that all over again.”

For just a moment, he lets himself blame the reporters. He lets himself blame the people who stuck their microphones in his face, who twisted his every word. He lets himself blame the people who read the news and made their own assumptions, and who decided on his life for him.

For just a moment, he thinks that maybe it’s not his fault.

But in the end, he’s the one who chose this road, and he’s the one who never looked back. And if he goes looking for therapy, not only is it going to hit the news, the therapist is going to make him face that.

He had a choice, and he made it. He’s the one who has to live with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEPRESSION: I think it's pretty obvious that Stiles in the current storyline is depressed, and I probably should have tagged for it sooner, and I'm really really sorry that I didn't.
> 
> PANIC ATTACKS/TRIGGERS: Stiles is dealing with a lot, and we know he has panic attacks in canon. In this chapter, he's actively trying to avoid dealing with having seen Derek and Rosie, and when his Dad brings up Rosie (with a current picture) Stiles absolutely blanks and walks out without fully realizing he's even having the reaction. He sure as hell doesn't expect a picture of his daughter to trigger him like that, and he knows he needs to deal with this.
> 
> As I mentioned in the top note, expect another update in roughly two weeks! I want to hold off on it a little to give me time to continue working on the storyline. Next chapter will be heading back into the past storyline with more of Hollywood week.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I'm working hard on trying to be able to update this more often. We're back in Hollywood for this chapter, and Stiles gets some time to talk to Derek and Rosie, and we get to see more of this nascent trio of Stiles, Malia, and Liam coming together as a band.

**THEN**

Skype was a wonderful thing. As soon as Derek and Rosie’s faces came on the screen, Stiles felt his heart settle. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching toward the screen.

Rosie reached out with one pudgy hand. “Da!”

“Hey, Rosie girl.” Stiles wiggled his fingers at her and she laughed delightedly, wiggling her fingers in return.

“Dadadadada!” She brought her hand back to her mouth, pressed her palm to it, then swung it outward with a big, “Mwah!”

God. Stiles’s heart twisted, aching from missing them. “I love you, too, baby girl.” He touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss in return. “I wish you could be here with me, but the only non-contestants allowed are some truly frightening stage parents trailing after the teenagers. There aren’t many, and I’ve even seen a couple of sixteen year olds on their own, but the parents that are here are some strong personalities.”

One eyebrow went up. “Strong personalities?” Derek asked.

“One of the teens decided to sleep in the hall—literally across the hallway—with his mom talking on her phone nearby. There was only one way through, and Liam tripped over the kid, and the mom flew into a rage and threatened a law suit. We left the producers there arguing with her and escaped with our camera woman. Becky,” Stiles added, since they’d finally found out her name this morning.

He liked Becky, and he had a feeling that Becky, for whatever reason, liked them.

“Should I be taking that as a spoiler?” Derek’s eyebrow went a little higher.

Stiles shook his head. “Nah. Happened last night when they were rounding us up for judgment. I think the producers were trying to get the kid to wake up anyway, and honestly, the nap sounded like a good idea.”

“And how was today?” The eyebrow went down as Derek’s expression crinkled into a fond smile that grew when Stiles wagged his finger at him.

“No spoilers,” Stiles said. “Besides. You’ll find out soon enough when we tune into the show. It’s about to start.”

He touched the remote and heard the echo of the same commercial running in the background on Derek’s TV. There was just a hint of a delay from streaming over his laptop, and it was weird to hear everything twice.

“Where’s your roommate?” Derek asked. “I figured we’d get to meet him tonight.”

“We talked about it,” Stiles admitted. “But Liam really wanted to get together with his best friend Mason online once he got the idea from me, and having two laptops and multiple conversations and streams in the same room sounded like chaos. So Liam’s over in Malia’s room and I think they chased off her roommate somehow. We’ve got plans for after the show.”

“Oh?” That eyebrow again, and Rosie giggles softly, patting Derek’s chest.

“It’s not going to work,” Stiles chided, because he wasn’t going to be tricked into give out spoilers. He gestured at the TV. “Besides. It’s starting.”

The music was familiar and for the first time, he watched the opening credits roll. It was a montage of images from the first day in Hollywood, and he spotted at least two times that he appeared with Malia and Liam. The cut of the shots was interesting. There were the sixteen year old twins who were on their own; Stiles knew they had a rough time in this first challenge. Most of the images focused in on a single competitor, but both times he appeared on screen, it was firmly with Malia and Liam in tow.

Usually with Malia hanging on him, but that wasn’t entirely unusual for Malia.

The voiceover began. “Our week in Hollywood starts with over one hundred and eighty hopefuls arriving at the theater, but it will end with twenty-four who are chosen to move on to the live shows next week. This is the time when our competitors will show us who has what it takes to become the next superstar.”

Another montage of starry-eyed people arriving. Stiles spotted himself in the background, and Derek made a small noise at the way Stiles had isolated himself in the early moments. They sat through the announcement of the challenge, then through some of the shots from the different groups rehearsing. Stiles winced to see things he hadn’t had any idea about. One girl from Kentucky was entirely off-key, and when her group called her on it, she stormed off. The twins, rehearsing the one song that was different from everything else, stumbling over words but working perfectly in synch during the performance. They were identical, and Stiles had a hard time differentiating between them, but he had to admit they were good.

There was a long distance shot of himself, Malia, and Liam sitting on the ottoman, trading food as they talked. Becky gave them privacy for their conversation, which Stiles appreciated. The only burst of sound was when Liam shouted out, “I hate biology!” Stiles winced internally for Liam having to deal with his parents seeing that, if they even watched the show at all.

“Is that Malia?” Derek asked, as she leaned over Stiles’s back to reach for something on the ottoman just before the image cut to another group.

“Pretty,” Rosie said, the word muffled around the thumb in his mouth.

“That’s Malia,” Stiles said. “I don’t know if they’ll show our actual performance, but she’s really good. I probably won’t be on this episode much. We weren’t the ones causing drama, and Becky’s actually pretty awesome. She didn’t want to get in our faces all the time, she just kind of hung out in the background to get b-roll of everything we did. She chased off some of the more aggressive camera operators, and she made sure the interviewers didn’t start talking until we were prepared. She seems pretty mild, but she’s got a backbone of steel.”

“Because of course you got to know the camera operator,” Derek said dryly.

“Actually, that was Malia. I think they were flirting, but I’m not sure, because Malia flirts with everyone.” Stiles leaned forward, watching the television even though it left him with his profile to Derek. “I haven’t even met most of these people. I was so wound up in rehearsing that I don’t know what the competition is like.”

“Then we should watch them so you can figure them out, and beat them,” Derek said. “That’s the game, right?”

And it was a game, underneath it all. Stiles was sure of that. He could be great, but if he couldn’t figure out the psychology of it, he was never going to advance. They were looking not just for the twenty-four best singers, but also the twenty-four people who would make the best TV.

“I want Liam and Malia to make it through,” Stiles murmured as he watched a trio absolutely butcher Billy Joel’s “The Longest Time” before another trio walking by stopped in order to bluntly tell them they were terrible. “Not that I have any say in it.”

Derek made a small noise that Stiles took as agreement.

He was surprised that they did show his group’s performance. Not just a quick cut, but the entire thing, from the haunting opening from Liam to the way Stiles’s voice echoed into silence at the end.

It was good. Better than he remembered.

They didn’t show the judges’ commentary, shifting from the end to the interview that Stiles had done, with Malia hanging close on him. “Stiles is a star,” Malia said as she patted his chest. “We’re going to make it through together. I’m pretty sure I can do anything with this guy.” The camera zoomed out, showing Stiles’s wide-eyed look as Malia winked and whispered loudly. “Anything.”

Stiles knew what he said after that, but the cut shifted to later in the conversation, the camera focused on Stiles’s face as he said, “We have gotten close. I think that we really clicked. I can’t imagine working with anyone else.”

That… really didn’t look good. “I swear they know I’m married,” he said, palm covering his face.

Derek’s laugh was a low rumble. “They are going to have a field day with the two of you,” he murmured. “You stick your foot in your mouth so often that you might as well leave it there, and she’s a flirt. Let it go. If it gets you votes, let it go.”

Stiles turned back to Skype. Derek was watching him, while Rosie sat on his lap staring at the TV off-screen. She pointed and said, “Dada sing!” then looked to where Stiles was watching her and waved, “Dada sing!” she crowed, clapping. “Pretty girl sing.”

“Malia,” Stiles said.

Rosie screwed up her face in a deeply furrowed frown. “Ma?” she tried and well, it was a start. She wasn’t good with the L sound yet, anyway.

Stiles was deeply proud of his little girl and how many words she had at her age. “Our girl is brilliant,” he said, and Derek kissed the top of Rosie’s head.

“Yes, yes she is,” Derek agreed.

The voiceover began again, showing tired contestants on the screen as they shuffled into one of the four rooms prepared. There was a brief clip of Liam stumbling in the hall and Stiles catching him, no sound as the stage mother yelled after him. Some trios leaned on each other. One group from Stiles’s room had arrived with a six and a half foot tall dude carrying a five foot four dude in his arms, while a woman trailed close behind, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

None of them were at their best for judging.

“The contestants have been divided into four rooms of equal numbers,” the voiceover said, the words long and loose and calm, the exact opposite of how Stiles had felt then. Even now, he felt the nerves crawling up his spine, his hands curling into fists.

He spotted himself in the crowd, sitting on the floor against the wall. Malia was lying down, her head in his lap and feet in Liam’s lap. Stiles idly played with her hair as he stared into space. His other hand tapped random rhythms on the floor, just trying to stay awake.

His heart twisted all over again watching as they showed Ennis at one door, and Deucalion at another, informing those rooms that they would be going home. The camera zoomed in on the shocked faces, the tears and the anger. A fight broke out between the girl from Kentucky that had been shown earlier, and her two partners. She jumped one of the other girls and had to be pulled off by a camera operator who dropped his camera long enough to wade into the fray. The one girl was separated from the others, and a long range camera showed the two remaining girls being looked over by Medical and patched up while speaking with the producers.

“No fight,” Rosie said, her hand shoved in her mouth.

“That’s right, Rosie, it’s not good to fight.” It went to commercial after that, and Stiles glanced at Derek. “Small spoiler—those two girls got to stay. Not because they complained about their partner, but because after the fight apparently one of the judges lobbied to let them try again without being weighed down by someone who turned out to be an obvious problem.”

“You’re still in,” Derek said quietly, his brow furrowed as he watched Stiles instead of the screen. “I didn’t see your group in either of those rooms.”

“We’re still in after that, but the episode’s not over,” Stiles said. “There was another elimination today.”

The commercials ended and the show immediately cut to the screaming from the two rooms where Kali and Jennifer informed the hopefuls that they were moving on. The video was cut to show a split screen, and on both sides, Deucalion came into the doorway behind Kali or Jennifer, then moved past them into the room.

Silence fell.

“Tonight we split the one hundred and eighty two of you into four rooms,” Deucalion said, tone dark and sharp. “Two of those groups were on the bottom and are leaving for home. Of the other two: one group is doing well, and other group needs to work harder. How you react to this statement will determine how well you do this week.”

The cameras pulled back to show that everyone was celebrating again, and yet another montage began. Stiles muted it on his side as his phone buzzed.

He picked it up, looking between Derek’s image on his laptop, and the screen of his phone.

_Malia’s getting antsy. I’m willing to tell Mason how it ends if you’re willing to do the same for Derek. If we can rehearse our group enough tonight, we can focus on helping each other with individual tomorrow_.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Stiles frowned at the phone, thumb sliding over the letters without responding.

“I think Rosie’s getting tired,” Derek said quietly. On the other side, Rosie had her head on his shoulder, her fist shoved even further into her mouth.

“Dadadadada,” she murmured.

“I’m still in,” Stiles said quickly. Softly enough that he didn’t disturb his daughter’s slow drift towards sleep. “I made it through to the final round, and tomorrow’s going to be hell. There are forty-eight of us left, and we’ve got two solo numbers and a group number, and I need to rehearse.”

Derek reached toward the screen, fingers brushing where Stiles’s face must be. “Go,” he said quietly. “Call me tomorrow. Your dad has the afternoon off, so I’m picking Rosie early and we’re going over to his place.”

Stiles nods quickly, tries to wipe away the moisture threatening to spill out of the corners of his eyes. “Okay. I will. Tell him I miss him, too, okay? And hey, Rosie girl, do you want a lullaby?” He leaned in, then sat back again as he realized that her mouth was open slightly, breathing soft little baby breaths in the first throes of sleep. “Okay, never mind. Just… kiss her goodnight for me, okay?”

“I will.”

Derek lingered there, and Stiles didn’t want to end the call until Derek did. His phone buzzed again in the background, and Stiles flinched, almost reaching for it.

“I’ll be home in a couple of days,” Stiles said.

“And you’ll be going back just a few days later,” Derek replied softly. “I have confidence in you. You’re going to make them love you as much as I do.”

“Well, you’re the only one I want to go home with at night,” Stiles said. He pulled his hand back, picked up his phone, and tapped out the words, _I’m coming_, without really looking. “I love you, Derek.”

“Love you, too, Stiles.”

In another breath, the call went dark.

Stiles closed the laptop to put it away. He turned off the TV, shoved his drumsticks in his pocket, and headed out to rehearse again.

#

_One group is doing well, and the other group needs to work harder._

Stiles couldn’t remember when he’d slept for more than an hour at a time. The minutes blurred into each other at an uncomfortable level of exhaustion, but he knew he had to work harder. No matter which group he was in, he had to work harder.

They ended up with more people than expected after the first cut. He’d thought there’d be 90 of them, but the twins who had been separate, and the two girls who were given a second chance brought the total up to 94. The second round of cuts had been a solo song before the first episode aired, and despite it being a solo effort, Liam, Malia, and Stiles had all worked together to help each other fine tune their performances into something special for the judges.

Stiles wasn’t sure that was why they made it through, but they did make it through, and going into the third day they were part of the final 48 contestants in Hollywood. Half of them would make it through and the other half would go home for good.

Stiles’s chest was tight as he drummed against the ottoman in their corner of the lobby. “Have to get through,” he muttered to the beat, using the side for heavier sounds and the top for a light rat-a-tap. “Have. To make. It through. Have. To make. It through.”

Becky circled in a little closer, and Stiles heard the whirr of the camera zooming in on his hands. She angled the mic attached to her camera so that it could catch the subtlety of his drumming, and he slowed down a little for show, setting down one stick so he could have the contrast between his fingers and the stick against the leather of the ottoman.

“You’re really good at that,” Becky said.

Stiles looked up, blinking at the red light on the front of the camera. “It helps me think.” It was only part of a lie. It helped him to breathe, too. It gave him a focal point and something to help work around, to calm himself down. “You’re talking to me. With the camera on.”

“I’m not supposed to do official interviews, but we can cut the sound out and use this for background imagery.” Becky put the camera on standby and set it down. She pushed her hair back from her face, then redid the ponytail with deft fingers. “Besides. Sometimes you just deserve a little bit of a break from being on, right?”

It’s funny how much easier it was to breathe when the camera was down.

“Right,” Stiles said with a low exhale. His fingers still moved, finding rhythm, but it didn’t feel as much like his heartbeat was driving the pace anymore.

“Of course, if you do anything interesting, I’ll need to start filming again.” Becky spread her hands, motioning to the small corner they’d carved out. There were things up against the wall—Liam’s backpack and laptop, as well as Stiles’s laptop. Malia’s guitar still in its case, and Liam’s guitar out of the case leaning against that. “Thank you, by the way.”

Stiles set his fingers against the ottoman, letting the beat go silent. “For what?”

“For being the most interesting group here, while staying drama free,” Becky said. She perched carefully on the edge of the ottoman, so as not to unbalance the camera. “This is my third season with the show. The first season someone threw a punch, missed their target, and smashed the lens of my camera. Another person tried to throw coffee at their partner and hit me instead. Last season one of the contestants started issuing death threats, and they decided that I was at fault for everything bad in their life and it kept going after the show aired.”She wrinkled her nose, offering a rueful smile. “I just deliver the footage. Blame the editing group on how it comes out on the show. I try to give most people privacy, but it’s amazing what the editors can do with a few choice phrases.”

“Yeah.” Like the interview Braeden did with him and Malia and Liam, and how that came out. “I’ve seen their magic in action, and there’s only been one Hollywood week episode so far.”

Becky’s expression was sympathetic. “I’m trying to get footage of you talking to your husband, if you don’t mind that intrusion. It’s obvious you love him and your daughter, and I think the audience would eat that up with a spoon. Twitter’s buzzing already about all three of you, though. They really have been falling in love with you and Malia and Liam. So you’ve got that going for you. If they think you make good TV—”

“Then we’ve got a better chance than someone who doesn’t.” She was only saying what Stiles already thought. This part of the competition was about his voice, yes, but it was also about how well he could play to the audience. He picked up his drumsticks again, rolling a light beat against the ottoman before his gaze fell on Liam’s empty guitar case. “Want something fun?” he asked. “ Before all this started, I was working on a song for Rosie.”

Becky reached for the camera, staying seated on the ottoman when Stiles moved to the floor. “Sure.” She flipped it off of standby and aimed it down at him.

Stiles grabbed the empty case and laid it out, tapping on it experimentally to see how the sound changed between the echoing main chamber and the more slender neck. He started off slowly, a thump of his fingers, then the flat of his hand against the center of the largest part, a thick, deep sound.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. A soft thud and thump like the steady beat of a heart. He laid it out, letting it echo before he sped it up, adding a new beat with his fingers against the side of the case before he reached for his drumstick. He wished he had his kit; the heartbeat needed to thud beneath the rolling beat that was the backbone of the song. He bent one leg, using his heel to create the sound against the floor as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Malia and Liam coming back. He didn’t have words for the song yet, so he hummed instead, slipping through the melody and into the chorus. By the time he reached the bridge, both Malia and Liam were also sitting cross-legged on the floor, their guitars in their laps. Malia made a circular motion with her hand, and Stiles slid from the bridge back to the melody, and she joined in, echoing his humming with her chords.

Liam set up a counterpoint, picking the notes rather than strumming, creating an almost birdlike sound throughout the song. It hadn’t been something Stiles thought of, but it works, and he knew Rosie would love it.

They followed him as he hit the chorus, Malia’s voice joining his in wordless harmony. When he slipped back into the bridge, they were still with him, and Liam hummed a low underline to the melody for one final chorus after that.

At the end, Stiles slowed the rolling beat, taking it back to the low ba-dump, ba-dump on the center of the case before he let it fade.

“Wow,” Becky whispered.

Liam sat with his hand on his guitar, looking from Malia to Stiles. “You know, if we only had a bass, we’d have a band.”

It was a thought Stiles filed away for the future. If they didn’t make it onto the show, they could still do this. They had this magic between them. They worked so well together, and it felt right. “We’d make a good band,” he said.

A low cough, and the rap of a cane against the floor.

Stiles looked up to see Deucalion standing there, expression sour. Stiles had no idea when he got there, but there were others gathered behind him, as if their music had somehow drawn an audience for their first time in three days.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Deucalion said sharply. “You do remember our conversation during your audition, yes? We are seeking the next great solo artist, not auditioning for members of a band.”

“You won’t own us forever,” Malia pointed out.

It was exactly what Stiles is thinking, but he wouldn’t have said it aloud, not that bluntly.

Deucalion’s smile was thin and sour. “We won’t own you at all if you are cut after your final performances today. I suggest that you focus on those, and not on whatever it was you were doing here. Work harder,” he snapped.

The crowd dispersed as he left. Stiles thought he saw contestants in the background, possibly watching them and paying attention to how they perform, but he couldn’t quite tell from his position on the floor. This spot had been nice, and mostly unobserved. That was an important part of the game. If they were starting to get attention, the game was changing. That was a mistake Stiles couldn’t afford to make.

“For what it’s worth, I loved it,” Becky said. The little red light blinked as she lowered the camera. “If you don’t make it on the show, you should form a band. I’d buy whatever you put out. I could be your first groupie.”

Malia left her guitar propped against the wall so she could drape herself over Becky’s shoulder, giving her a wet smack on the cheek. “Aw, Becky, I know you love us. But one of us is going to win this thing. We just won’t know which one until the finale, right?”

“Right,” Liam said firmly. He took the case from Stiles so he could carefully put his guitar away. “One of us is going to win. But that doesn’t stop us from working together on compositions in the meantime, right? I like the way Stiles thinks. The music feels good to me.”

It wasn’t going to stop them from keeping an eye out for a bass player, either. Whether they won or lost, the label would only own them for a certain amount of time before they were able to strike out on their own. This was a friendship, and it had amazing potential. Stiles didn’t want to lose that.

“We’ll focus on the now,” he said, sliding his drumsticks into his back pocket. “Let’s get through Hollywood week, and get onto the live show. But yeah. We can keep making music on our own, too, in the background. Nothing’s going to stop that, now that we’ve started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back in two weeks!! I've officially put it in my calendar with a reminder to post every two weeks. Now I just need to write a chapter every two weeks. Sometimes that's easier, sometimes it's harder, but I TRY. Feel free to visit me on Pillowfort, Tumblr, or Twitter in the meantime. And thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. You are all incredible and awesome and I am so excited to see you all here. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, again! We're back in the Now, and Stiles is... not necessarily behaving well. He'll face up to his issues, I swear. But this one has a definite low.

**NOW**

Stiles has had better plans in his life.

The fact that the town park happens to be across from the Grace Hopper elementary school is pure coincidence. The park has a dog run. Dex needs to run. Ergo, Stiles needs to go to the park. If that happens to leave him sitting on a bench with Nurse curled in his lap at lunchtime, just as a pile of kids pour out of the school onto their own playground just across the street, well, that’s providence.

His fingers curl in Nurse’s fur, earning him a sharp hiss until he relaxes.

He’s pretty sure that this group of kids is the right grade. Maybe it’s the first and second graders both, at the same time. It’s a tiny school. Stiles researched it long ago, when they first applied to have Rosie sent there, since the school where he worked was in the wrong district. It seemed so strange to be looking at schools when they’d just adopted a tiny baby, but he wanted to make sure she had all the best chances. And out of all the public schools, this tiny, competitive magnet school had the best resources to ensure that Rosie would get all the attention she needs. They hadn’t wanted a private school, but if she could get into Grace Hopper, she’d get the best the public school district had to offer.

And of course, Rosie got in.

Stiles stares at the small knots of children gathering in different places on the playground. He can barely see them, and he tries to look intently to identify his girl. His Rosie.

There.

She’s with a mixed group, one of the boys fiddling with a playground ball in his hands, held loose as he tosses it and catches it. When he tosses it to her, Stiles can see her straight on as she laughs, catching it and throwing it back. Her hair is braided in a crown around her head, and pinned up with a bright red bow. She’s wearing a dress and tights with the knees scuffed out, and the same sparkling sneakers from the picture his dad had on his phone.

She’s beautiful and bright and intense as the group splits into two teams and starts a game of kickball. It looks like she’s one of the leaders, and Stiles’s heart clenches he’s so proud.

Dex barks, and Stiles sits upright, turning to make sure his dog is still okay. Nurse hops off his lap and runs to the fence, leaping over it to join Dex in the run. There are two other dogs there, and two women speaking closely to each other. One glances at Stiles, then away too quickly.

He tugs his hoodie further forward around his face, hoping he hasn’t been recognized. He doesn’t need pictures appearing online.

Dex woofs excitedly, playing with the two smaller dogs while Nurse manages to stay underfoot just enough to keep Dex from being too rough.

They’re fine.

Stiles returns his attention to the schoolyard just as Rosie kicks the ball and it sails over the head of the other team. It hits the side of the school and she jumps up, punching the air before she takes a victory lap for her home run.

His phone buzzes.

_Where are you? Brett says you took the Jeep out over an hour ago. Liam and I wanted to talk to you about the new album._

He stares at Malia’s text. Right. The new album. The one he’s supposed to be writing songs for and absolutely failing to do so.

He closes her text and raises his phone, aiming the camera at the schoolyard across the street. It’s no good. It’s too far away to get any kind of a good picture.

His phone buzzes again, then sings out with a guitar riff that Malia recorded for him. “Yeah?” Stiles stands and he walks over to the gate for the dog run. The two women look at him warily, then lean in to whisper to each other again as he tugs on his hoodie. “I’m at the dog run at the town park.”

“Why didn’t you just walk to the park down the street?” Malia asks. “It’s closer. You could’ve been home by now.”

“This one has a dog run,” Stiles points out.

“So does the one close to us,” Malia counters. “Which means you chose that one for a reason. Are you going to tell me what that reason is? Am I going to have to start tracking your phone to find you?” Her voice lowers. “I’m worried, after what happened.”

“It’s not like that.” Stiles knows what she’s thinking. He’s been trying to hide everything from them for so long, but now that they’re not on the road—now that they don’t have chaos around everything they do—it’s easier to see the details of each other’s lives. Malia and Liam aren’t idiots. “Look, I just wanted to get away for a bit.” He keeps his voice low, one wary eye on the two women.

One of them stares at him, pursing her lips.

Across the street a loud bell rings, and Stiles knows this is his last chance. He turns and watches as the kids form into lines to head inside.

“I think it’s kind of like that,” Malia says quietly. “Are you alone?”

Stiles pitches his voice a little louder. “No, there are these two women walking their dogs and staring at me like I’m some kind of a pervert.”

The one woman looks away and whistles for her dog. It’s a small thing, and Dex is disappointed as it trots obediently over to her, the other one trailing behind. The women clip leashes to collars, and Stiles steps aside as they head for the gate, giving them room to leave.

“Are you wearing a beanie and a hoodie and looking like a hoodlum?” Malia asks. “Because you probably look like you’re lurking in the shadows.”

“It’s broad daylight across from a school. What do they think I’m going to do, mug them in front of six year olds?” Stiles asks.

“Oh.”

Shit.

“Stiles.” Malia’s voice is soft and serious. “If I come to get you—”

“Pretty sure we don’t want to have the whole band together in public,” Stiles mutters. He can say that now that he’s alone again, with only Dex and Nurse to judge.

“Fine, then if I send someone else to get you,” Malia says. “Who should I call?”

They’re all bad choices. “Don’t worry about me, Malia,” Stiles says. “I’m just going to stay here for a bit, then I’ll be home. Dex loves the car ride, and well, Nurse makes me wear her like a fur collar when the Jeep starts moving. It’s funny. Maybe I should’ve used her carrier.”

He can hear her voice but he can’t hear what she says as he cuts the call.

Dex snuffles close, nose wet and cool against Stiles’s hand. Stiles drops into a crouch so he can more easily scratch behind the dog’s ears, until Dex is reassured that Stiles is fine.

There’s another small crowd of kids outside the school when Stiles glances over. Most of them are pretending to be too cool for recess. He suspect it’s the fifth graders.

A couple of them have spotted Dex, who spots them in return and delightedly woofs as they point.

Stiles tries to engage Dex in a game of fetch; maybe the ball will draw less notice. Dex darts off when the ball goes flying, but doesn’t bring it back. Nurse, on the other hand, saunters over to where the ball lies and curls up around it.

Maybe Stiles isn’t a great pet parent after all.

He scratches the cat on the belly, and gets his hand out of the way with the ball held carefully before Nurse can scratch him back for the indignity. This time when he throws the ball, Dex chases it and noses at it, then lies down to chew on it.

He can hear the kids calling out to the dog. It’s not hard to entertain them by continuing to fail at fetch, collecting the ball on his own every time, just so Dex can chase it.

Foosteps crunch on the ground and Stiles turns slowly, hands out by his side. He half expects it to be his dad, or someone from the Sheriff’s station, but it’s just Scott with Malia and Liam trailing behind him.

Dex leaps up against the fence trying to get to Scott, woofing excitedly. Stiles swears he hears squeals from across the street. Then the bell rings, and the squeals go silent.

“Seriously?” Malia says quietly as they let themselves into the dog run. “Is that where—”

“Yes,” Scott says quickly. “I came to her spring chorus concert thing last year with Mom and John and Derek. She’s in first grade now.”

“I’m aware of what grade my daughter is in,” Stiles snaps. He rocks back as Malia takes a step toward him, putting his hands up. “I’m not going to take off again. I just… it seemed like a good place to bring Dex for a run.”

“Why is the cat here?” Scott asks. Nurse pads over, meowing and bumping into Scott’s calves as soon as she gets close.

“Because where the dog is, the cat is,” Liam says with a long, frustrated sigh. “It’s impossible to get out the door without her. I closed the door on her tail the other day and she still hasn’t forgiven me. I give up. It’s not like she’s running off anywhere, so she doesn’t need a leash.”

“Nurse walks herself,” Stiles agrees. “She’s not so fond of riding in cars, though.”

Scott bends down to scratch Nurse under the chin. “Yeah, well, most cats aren’t.” He stays where he is, looking up at Stiles. “You kind of look like a stalker. I’m surprised you haven’t been reported.”

“It’s called anonymity so I don’t end up on someone’s blog or Twitter,” Stiles says, tugging at his hoodie again. “Malia, Liam, you should do the same thing.” Liam at least has a beanie on, but Malia’s not covered up at all. Her hair swings free around her face, and she’s right there for anyone to see.

“Pfft. No one’s going to think I’m really here in a dog park in Beacon Hills,” Malia says. She grabs Dex’s leash from where it hangs on the fence and clips it to his collar. “And think about it, Stiles. If someone posts a picture of you walking your dog, that’s one thing. But if someone starts taking pictures of you looking like you’re about to kidnap small children, that’s probably really bad. Worse than going into rehab kinds of bad. So you might want to rethink your life decisions here.”

She opens the gate and Nurse darts through, sitting on the path as if waiting for them. Dex dances happily, jumping up onto Scott and trying to lick his face.

Malia gives Liam a significant look as she walks away, Scott trailing along in her wake as Dex herds him. Nurse walks ahead of them, not even bothering to look back to make sure they’re following. The cat’s confident that her people and her dog will stay with her.

It’s kind of funny seeing Malia and Scott interacting without snarking at each other. Stiles can’t decide if he should be proud to have inspired it, or if he should feel guilty that they’re concerned enough about him to put aside their differences.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter, since they’re walking off. Stiles has lost his excuse of walking Dex, but at least they’re leaving him along again.

Mostly alone.

Stiles glances at Liam, motions to the parade walking the dog.

Liam crosses his arms, his eyebrows both up. “Pretty sure that Malia brought Scott to try to talk to you from some kind of past life timeframe, but the dog just stole him, and Malia’s holding the dog, therefore I get the talk Stiles down from the rooftop position. And we all know how great I am at pretending to be the emotionally stable person in this band.”

“The only people in this band who are actually emotionally stable are Mason and Corey,” Stiles says dryly.

“Exactly.” Liam takes a cautious step, making a face at the ground as he surveys the sole of his shoe. “Don’t people know to pick up the poop? Let’s find somewhere else to sit where I’m not going to ruin my shoes.”

Liam knocks into Stiles as they make their way down the path slowly, and Stiles reaches up to push his hood back. His beanie is still low, down to his eyebrows, and he hunches in his jacket, shoulders rounding. He leads the way off the path and down to the swings, taking one for himself while Liam sits carefully on the other and starts it swaying.

“I’m not on a rooftop,” Stiles says. He wants to make that very clear. “I’m not going to hurt myself, or anyone else. I’m not going to kidnap Rosie. I just—” He stumbles, twisting the swing so that it’s spinning side to side as well as forward and back in gentle motion. “When I saw that picture of her, my brain went blank. I suddenly realized that I left her, and time had passed, and she was so small the last time I actually saw her. And I wondered if she remembers me. If she knows that’s me singing when she hears my music on the radio. I wondered what Derek tells her. She’s obviously—Dad sees her. She has to hear about me, right? She’s still got Dad and Melissa for grandparents. But she doesn’t have me.”

“It’s probably hard for her, but she’s still pretty little,” Liam says quietly. He has his arms around the long chains, hands down and head bowed. His toes dig into the dirt, anchoring him as the swing sways. “My dad left when I was about ten, and I felt like he’d abandoned me. Us. He never called my mom, he never did anything for us. He just walked out of our lives like he was never there. And things got hard for a while, until Mom met my step-dad. Then everything got really good, and you want to know what the funny part about it is?”

Stiles doesn’t feel like this story is meant to cheer him up, as Liam draws the parallels, but fine, he’ll go along with it. “What?”

“I still felt abandoned.” Liam’s tone is flat.

Yeah, that makes Stiles feel so much better.

“I was so fucking angry at my dad,” Liam continues. “And my step-dad, he’s really great. He’s incredibly intelligent, and he’s great for my mom, and he was good to me. But I had this angry chip on my shoulder, and this thing in my head,” he gestures at his forehead.

“Intermittent explosive disorder,” Stiles says. “I remember you explaining it a long time ago.”

“Exactly. Even when life was good, anything could set me off. To the point where I got into a fight while at my new, very expensive, private school, and I somehow ended up punching my best friend in the face,” Liam says dryly. He glances sideways at Stiles. “Unless he’s gotten implants, his front teeth are fake. I had a really good punch.”

Stiles puts two and two together and matches this up with Brett’s version of the story. He still doesn’t like the parallels Liam’s offering between himself and Rosie, but Stiles believes that Rosie is adjusting better to losing a father. Which… doesn’t make him feel better. He doesn’t want her punching people, but he wouldn’t mind being missed just a little.

Maybe he should take the distraction Liam’s offering as just that: a distraction that isn’t some kind of life lesson about Stiles being a bad father. “I’m glad you don’t punch as well as you used to, because if you’d actually broken Hayden’s nose we’d have a huge problem. It’s not a small problem as it is.”

“I’m better about it. It’s just that Brett and I—” Liam shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter now. But back then, I punched the most popular guy in school and everyone ditched me. I went from finding my place in the new social structure to the bottom of the heap, and I stayed there until we moved because my step dad got a job on the other side of the country. The point is—I had kind of an abandonment complex. And Brett made it worse because he never got it. He didn’t know why he pissed me off in the first place, and then he didn’t try to understand after.”

If Stiles ignores the whole idea that Rosie probably has a hell of an abandonment complex because he left, he’s not sure what this story is supposed to mean, other than a distraction. And there are still pieces of the story missing, and maybe it’s time to go back to Brett to see if there’s more that he can fill in. Or maybe Lori. She might know details.

Right, it’ll definitely be a distraction. Although the other point remains, but it doesn’t really matter. Stiles already figures he’s at fault for Rosie feeling abandoned anyway. This doesn’t make it worse.

Still. This is a level of personal they never got to in the last several years.

“I wasn’t poor growing up,” Stiles says slowly.

“But you weren’t well off, either, I remember. We had a few conversations about money and management after my parents cut me off.” Liam makes a face, and Stiles can’t blame him.

“You were kind of spoiled,” Stiles points out. “Your parents ended up paying for your hotel for Hollywood week when you got in debt, even though they were cutting you off otherwise.”

Liam just makes a disgruntled noise. “I save money now.”

Money is still one of those weird topics for Stiles. “I know,” he says. He kicks off, pumping his legs as he swings back and forth. He doesn’t try to go too high; the swing set is too light for him to do that. “I’ve got money set aside for Rosie in a trust account, and I send money to Derek as well. And I send money to Dad and Melissa. Dad’s told me not to, but I set up a fund and made it so Scott could access it in an emergency. I just don’t want to see anyone going without. Not any more.”

He laughs, and it feels ugly and dark in his throat. “It’s funny to think that Rosie’s technically a trust fund kid now. That was one of the hardest things about growing up. My best friends when I was a kid were rich. And I wasn’t. And when my mom died, things just got tighter, and then we all went into middle school and—”

“Middle school’s a bitch,” Liam mutters.

Stiles laughs again. “Yeah. It is. I felt left out of a lot of things, and they just went on without me. I met Scott, and everything turned out okay in the end. I just wanted to be comfortable.”

“You do realize our house screams filthy rich, right?”

Stiles gives Liam a dirty look. “Yes. I know. But I wanted the studio, and I didn’t want to commute to LA.”

“And you wanted to be back in Beacon Hills and to turn into a hermit if you felt like it,” Liam says quietly. “Stiles. You’ve been pretty miserable since the last tour started.”

Stiles close his eyes. It’s been longer than that.

“Malia said—” Liam cuts off, his feet scraping against the ground.

Stiles doesn’t look at him, eyes tightly closed as he focuses on the sensation of flying low on the swing.

“Are you going to start therapy?”

Stiles puts his feet down so hard that the swing catches and it yanks roughly on his arms. “Ow,” he mutters, slipping off the swing, ending up in a crumbled heap on the rough ground that’s been dug out below the swing.

Liam crouches in front of him, mouth turned down and sad. “You said you didn’t want to hurt yourself.”

“That wasn’t on purpose, idiot,” Stiles grumbles. “I just—”

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Stiles snaps. He hates the way Liam gives him a knowing look after the show of temper.

“I’ve done my time in therapy,” Liam says idly. “I mean. When you have a disorder named after a bomb, you kind of have to. But it did help. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should go back. Maybe it’d help me stop wanting to punch Brett in the face all over again.”

“No punching.”

“Don’t plan on actually doing it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Liam says easily. He reaches out, poking Stiles’s shoulder with one finger. “I’ll make a deal.”

Stiles knows what’s coming. He wants to make Liam stop, keep him from saying a word.

He means to say no.

“I’ve already gotten a recommendation of someone I can see here—right here in Beacon Hills, so I don’t have to go to LA for some kind of therapist to the stars,” Liam says. “I trust her. She went to school with my old therapist. She’s already signed the NDA. I think she’s going to be a good fit, but I haven’t started yet. It feels weird. But I’ll go if you do.”

Shit.

“Liam.”

“We’re worried about you.”

He really means to say no.

Dex barks in the distance, his footsteps coming closer, trailed by Scott’s and Malia’s voices and somewhere beyond, the sharp yowl of the cat.

Stiles exhales, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Yes. Fine. You already have an NDA for her?”

“I’ll get one with your name on it,” Liam says.

“I’m going to hate this,” Stiles mumbles. He can see it now, with her digging into his childhood issues, and ripping apart every feeling he has left about Derek and Rosie. He doesn’t want to do it.

But he can’t keep lurking in parks hoping for a glimpse of his daughter, either. Or panicking when someone else knows her better than him.

This is going to be for the best. It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I want to say "Next chapter will post on March 28th!" except I can't guarantee that. I think I'm about 1/3 of the way through the draft of the chapter, however writing lately has been difficult. The world is burning, and my job is chaos, and I'm trying to finish the current book for PHU before everything falls apart. However, I am also really determined to get that chapter finished and to you by two weeks from now, so keep an eye out and hope that all goes well. Cross your fingers. While you're at it, send positive energy out into the world, and sit back and feel the positive energy I'm trying to send your way. We all need some, right about now. Love to all of you, and thank you so much for being here and reading and commenting. Y'all are amazing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! We'll be on a regular every two weeks' posting schedule after this, hopefully, so expect a chapter every other Saturday. With this one, it's back to Hollywood. Please be aware that Stiles's anxiety is featured in this chapter, and there is a panic attack. If you would like to skip it, it begins with "The smell of chocolate turned Stiles’s stomach" and if you search for "He inhaled roughly and held the breath" you'll get to the end/aftermath of it.

**THEN**

The final day was brutal. It began with a solo a cappella performance, and Deucalion cut Stiles off before he finished the first chorus. “Please do not think that your voice alone can sell a song that big,” Deucalion said dryly. “You have no backing, no band. It is you and a stage, and without your percussion you are far too small for the song you chose.”

Stiles bit his tongue, his cheeks pinched as he clamped his teeth tightly and didn’t respond. All of the songs available for this round were too big. There were no good options, only some that were better than others. He knows he could have chosen far worse than he did.

He was glad to find out later that half the contestants didn’t even manage to finish their first verse.

“It was brutal,” Malia said. She had her guitar on her lap, fingers idly plucking at the strings without finding any kind of rhythm or tune. “I swear he set us up to fail.”

Stiles cast a glance at Becky, but she had her back to them, the camera swung outward to point at the people milling around the lobby. “I think that’s exactly what happened. It wasn’t a question of succeeding that challenge; we needed to not fail as badly as everyone else did.”

“Verse and a chorus,” Liam muttered sullenly. “That’s all I got.”

“More than me,” Stiles admitted.

The plucked notes faded as Malia stopped, her hand against the strings. “I was one of the ones he stopped before I finished the first verse,” she said quietly. “According to Deucalion, I was pitchy, my rhythm was off, and the song didn’t match my personality. I have no idea what that means.”

Stiles was fairly certain that it meant that Deucalion was pissed at Malia for trying to play the game. One thing most contestants failed at was having any kind of diversity in their musical choices. Performers tended to prefer ballads, or hard rock, or pop punk. Normally they wouldn’t move across the genres easily, but Malia kept picking something different.

Stiles loved that that pissed Deucalion off. He was trying to do the same thing, although he’d bet that Malia didn’t do it on purpose. She just went with what felt good at the moment.

“It means Deucalion was looking for a reason to pick on you,” he said quietly. “And all of it means that our group performance needs to be solid. We get to bring out our instruments for this one, and we need to wow them.”

There was a part of him that thought he needed to practice for the evening solo performance before he did this, but there would be time for that later. He couldn’t let one performance fail just so another could shine. They needed to look good at all times.

He was determined that they’d all go through to the show.

“We should practice,” Liam said. His head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, and he had his knees bent to prop his guitar. It was terrible posture for either playing or singing.

“Mm,” Malia agreed.

Stiles blinked. He meant to say something inspiring, but his eyelids were heavy, and he had to blink again.

When he opened his eyes, Becky was crouched down in front of them, frowning. The camera sat on the ottoman, red light off. “Hey,” she said softly. “I think you’re running on empty, and I hate to say it, but you’ve got maybe an hour until your group is up. Is the twenty minute cat nap you just took going to be enough?”

Stiles tried to wrangle his brain enough to understand that they’d literally fell asleep mid-rehearsal. Liam was still leaning back against the wall, his mouth slightly open with sleep. Malia snoozed while hunched over her guitar.

They were so fucked.

On the other hand, so was everyone else in Hollywood.

He reached out with his toe to nudge Malia’s knee, and she flailed a hand out while waking up, hitting Liam’s arm. Liam wiped the drool from the side of his mouth, and Malia quickly re-tuned her guitar after resting with her hand against the strings.

They weren’t perfect, but they were ready to move again. Sleep was a thing for the future.

#

Stiles’s phone buzzed while he was waiting in the wings for his final solo performance. With 48 contestants each performing a full song, along with time allotted to get out on stage beforehand and the judges’ critique after, this final was a long affair. They were two hours in, and Stiles knew he had two more performances to wait through before he could get his own over with.

He needed to focus.

But, at the same time…. He glanced at the phone.

Derek.

When he looked to Becky, she turned the camera towards him and motioned for him to answer.

Stiles pressed to accept the call with video. “Hey, Derek. Baby girl.” He pitched his voice low, backing away from the edge of the stage. “Believe it or not, we’re still going through today’s performances.”

“I guess this is why they have two days between airing episodes,” Derek said. Rosie sat on his lap and she reached out towards his phone, small fingers making grabbing motions in the air. “Yes, baby girl, that’s your Daddy.”

“Dadadadada!” Rosie shouted.

Stiles huffed a laugh and blew a kiss at his daughter. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, continuing the conversation with Derek. “Even the judges can’t bend time to make it go faster. Math wins in the end.”

Becky snickered, and Derek’s brow furrowed as he heard the off-screen sound. “We’re not alone,” he said softly, and it wasn’t a question.

“Actually, I’m back stage and I go on for my final performance before they make their decisions in about… five minutes, I think. There’s someone on now, and I’m after the person who comes after them.” Stiles figured he should probably be as honest as possible right now. “Malia went earlier, and I think she’s taking a nap, or I’d introduce you. Liam’s outside because he’s got a few more people to wait through after me. I’ve got Becky with me right now.” Stiles glanced to his side. Becky lifted one hand to wave, then motioned from Stiles to the camera and back again. Stiles nodded. “Want to meet her? And our adoring public?”

“Are you serious?” Derek raised both eyebrows.

Stiles mouthed the word _please_, and Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.

Rosie leaned forward, both arms waving wildly. “Dadadadada!” she shouted. “Be?”

Close enough. Stiles was going to take that as an affirmative. “Yep,” Stiles said cheerfully as he turned the phone to face Becky and the camera. “Derek and Rosie, this is our favorite camerawoman Becky, who is also our best cheering section. We adore her completely. Becky, this is my husband, and my daughter. They are the lights of my life, and my reason for everything.”

“Obviously he has a way with words,” Derek said dryly. Stiles peeked over the edge of his phone to see the image of Derek waving while Rosie reached out. “It’s good to meet you, Becky. Thanks for taking care of him.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Becky said quietly. “Stiles, Malia, and Liam are my favorite people here. I’m looking forward to seeing them make it through.”

“I see why he likes you, if you keep inflating his ego like that.”

“Oh, haha,” Stiles deadpanned, turning the camera back to face himself. “Thanks, Derek.” His expression softened because Derek was smiling as Rosie rocked back and forth, singing happily to herself. Stiles reached out and touched the screen with two fingertips. “God, I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Derek murmured, soft enough that Stiles was certain that Becky’s mic likely missed it.

He didn’t move for a long moment, just staring at Derek and watching their daughter sing. It ached in his gut to be away from them like this, but he was doing this for them. “It’s going to be better, right?” he said softly. “We’re going to be incredible after this. When I win—”

“Not if?” Derek’s eyebrows went up, and he was laughing.

“Dada win!” Rosie shouted. Becky snickered, and Stiles was sure the camera’s mic captured that one.

“When I win,” Stiles repeated, coming down hard on the first word. “I’m going to give you both the world. I promise.”

This time it was Derek who touched the screen with his fingertips. Stiles swore his mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear a word of what Derek said over Rosie’s shriek and grab for the phone. There was a scuffle, then a closeup of Rosie’s mouth as she yelled, “Mwah! Mwah, Dada!”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at that. He lifted the phone to his own face and pressed his lips close to the camera in an exaggerated kissing motion. “Mwah, Rosie. Love you, baby girl.”

The curtains moved, and Stiles realized that the person who was performing not only finished but exited the stage. The one person between him and his final performance for Hollywood week was walking out in front of the judges in that exact moment.

The bottom dropped out of his gut, and Stiles felt a little like he needed to puke.

“You’re going to be incredible,” Derek said, loud enough to be heard easily. “You always are, Stiles. They won’t know what’s hit them.”

Stiles swallowed hard, trying to keep the anxiety at bay. “I’d better go. I’m almost up.”

“Love!” Rosie shouted, almost drowning out Derek’s clear, “I love you, Stiles.”

“F—” Stiles cut himself off just in time, switching to, “God, I love you, too. I’ll see you soon.”

He held the phone to his forehead after the call ended, his eyes closed, just inhaling slowly as if he could breathe in the air of Derek’s words from the speaker.

“Stiles,” Becky said softly.

When he glanced at her, the red light was off, and the camera was angled down.

“Is it okay if I give them….” She motioned at the camera rather than saying it.

He appreciated that she asked him that, that she even bothered to think about invading his family’s privacy. And he knew he should probably ask Derek first, but they already used footage of Derek and Rosie during the auditions. Derek told him to play the game, and do what it took to win, and Stiles knew that this would give him an edge. The media had already grabbed hold of his friendship with Malia and Liam in just the short time of Hollywood Week, and he was aware that there was plenty of press after auditions aired about the gay couple with the cute little girl.

He nodded once quickly. “Yeah, of course. Just. I don’t think we said anything too personal, but if we did—”

“It’s very possible that after careful review, some of my footage might not be worth handing over,” Becky said solemnly.

On the stage, the music finished. Stiles exhaled roughly, because this was it. In the distance, Liam’s voice rose as he entered the staging area. In a moment, Becky would film Stiles walking onto stage, then she would catch up with Liam to stick with him while he waited. There would be another camera entirely for post-performance interviews, waiting in the wings.

In a way, this was the end of his time with Becky.

Stiles caught her hand, hauling her in for a hug. She made a small squeaking sound, then held on hard. “Thanks for everything this week,” he murmured.

She laughed softly. “Any time. I’ll stick with the three of you on the show, too. I promise. You’ve always got me on your side.”

As they disengaged, Stiles put his game face on. This was his last chance, and he had to make sure they know that the judges knew they needed to keep him. He was going to move on.

Then the curtains moved, and it was his turn to shine.

#

The solo performances finished at midnight, but there was no word from the judges until after one in the morning. They couldn’t go to their rooms; the day wasn’t over until judgement was issued. But it was late, and Stiles was exhausted. He was overdrawn, and long past ready to escape from the crowds. At just past one in the morning, he curled in their corner of the lobby, his head in Malia’s lap and with Liam sprawled across his chest. They were a pile of cats, he thought, curled comfortably together, sliding in and out of sleep at a moment’s notice.

Becky woke them, nudging Stiles’s shoulder lightly and letting him wake Malia and Liam. One of the producers stood there, staring down at them, a clipboard in her hand. He blinked blearily at her, while Malia gripped his hand tightly.

“M—Stiles Stilinski?” she asked, hesitating before uttering his preferred first name.

“Yes.” He carefully disengaged and pushed himself to standing.

“Malia Tate? Liam Dunbar?” As they each nodded in turn, the producer marked something down on her clipboard. She turned away quickly, starting walking before Liam even made it to standing. “Follow me.”

When it became obvious that none of them had moved, she looked back over her shoulder, her expression dark. “We are all exhausted,” she snapped. “You are hardly alone in that. Gather your things and follow me.”

They worked together to collect their belongings. Stiles’s pack ended up over Liam’s shoulder, and Stiles carried Malia’s guitar. His drumsticks were in his back pocket, poking him every time he moved. There was a bag of cookies that had been hot when they were delivered an hour ago, before they fell asleep mid-conversation again, and Stiles made sure to grab that as well. He didn’t want good sugar to go to waste. When they ran out of hands, Becky managed to put their paper coffee cups back into the cardboard carrier they was delivered in and carried that in one hand, the other holding the camera on her shoulder as she filmed them marching down the hall.

To their fate, Stiles supposed. They were heading for their fate.

“In here, please,” the producer snapped, opening a door and closing it again as soon as they were inside.

Stiles counted the heads quickly. Ignoring the camera people around the edges, there were twenty-one contestants before they arrived. His group of three must have been the last to arrive because half of the remaining contestants were now sequestered in this one room.

“This is really it,” he muttered, dropping into the nearest chair, with the bags on the floor in front of him. Malia and Liam dropped what they carried as well, making a big mixed pile. Whatever happened, it was happening for all of them together, right now.

“This is really it,” Malia echoed. She sat down next to him, while Liam bracketed him on the other side.

Stiles yanked the drumsticks out of his back pocket, exhaling as he could slump back without being poked. He spread his legs, knees knocking into Malia and Liam, and tapped idly against the edge of the chair between his knees.

Becky set down the cardboard carrier of paper coffee cups, then backed up, swinging the camera to film the entire room before she leaned against the wall and focused her camera on them.

This was it. She was going to capture their success or their defeat.

Stiles’s heel jiggled, twice as fast as the beat he tapped against the chair. It rolled through him, vibrating out in nervous energy.

“Quit it,” a guy behind him snapped. Stiles turned, blinking, to see two identical faces.

At least the twins were together, whichever way it went.

Malia covered Stiles’s hand, and he finally stopped tapping, unable to move the drumsticks. His heel kept going, speeding up, until Liam’s hand on his knee forced him to rest.

With nothing moving, Stiles’s breath rushed through him instead, coming faster and faster.

“Here.” Malia let go and leaned forward, coming back with two paper cups in her hand, one of which she handed to Stiles and his fingers curled around it automatically. Liam held a bag, the paper rustling before he held a cookie in Stiles’s direction.

The smell of chocolate turned Stiles’s stomach, twisting it uncomfortably as his breath rattled, hurrying faster than he could manage.

He shook his head, tried to say no, but he wasn’t sure anything actually came out. It was getting harder to breath, like every inhalation brought no air, like his lungs couldn’t manage to fill. He wheezed, and something fell to the ground.

The cup. He dropped the cup, and lukewarm coffee spilled across the carpet, soaking in before it could spread too far. It merged with the chaotic pattern, and the longer Stiles stared at it, the more the pattern seemed to shift and move, dancing until he was dizzy.

“Stiles?”

Malia’s voice seemed a long way off, echoing somewhere outside his head. It couldn’t get past the beat of his heart that thumped in his ears. Fast, like the kick drum for a sped up trance beat. Liam’s words were entirely indistinguishable, strangely slow and low.

Something touching the back of his neck, fingers curling against his skin. He shook his head, tried to push them away because it tickled and pricked at the same time, and he wanted to cry from the sensation.

Maybe he already was crying, he couldn’t tell. His face was wet. His chest hurt. He reached up and curled his fingers against his heart, trying to rip it out. Maybe if he could open up his chest he could breathe again.

Maybe.

Heavy weight leaning in from both sides. Hands over his, holding on. Whispers that held a cadence, half the speed—no four times slower than his rapidly beating heart. One long breath for the whole note, while his heart rapped out four quick quarter beats.

A touch to his face, and low words. He tried to match the rhythm with his own breath, struggling around the snare drum trip of his heart.

In for a whole note, hold for a measure and a half, then slowly let it out like sustaining that long note at the end of the phrase.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

His heart slowed, two beats to a measure. Keeping the whole note was easier as his lungs filled, the air sweet and clean. Sound flooded in as the overwhelming rapid bass of his heart receded to a more normal thud that filled and shook his body.

“We’ve got you,” Malia murmured, Liam’s voice a low echo on his other side. They managed perfect synchrony in their words, and Stiles exhaled to match the phrase. “We’ve got you.”

He opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them. The coffee had soaked into the rug, and the bag of cookies lay on its side, a chocolate chip cookie in crumbles across their bags. Malia had her palm at his lower back, her hand on his chest over his own, while Liam’s hand rested on one knee, his other hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Both of them were close enough for him to feel the heat of their breath on his cheeks as he leaned forward.

He inhaled roughly and held the breath, counting slowly before he let it go. “I’m okay,” he lied.

Liam made a dubious sound, while Malia snorted. “No, you’re not,” she whispered. “But we’ll trust that you’re going to be.”

She patted his chest before pulling away. They gave him space and he breathed into it, slowly taking in the room again. He needed to come back to himself quickly, because he had no idea how long it had been and when the judges would be in.

The woman with the clipboard stood just inside the door. When Stiles looked over, she didn’t meet his eyes as she reached for the handle and nudged it open, giving the judges room to enter.

Stiles was sure that they’d been through makeup, but nothing could hide the signs of exhaustion. Jennifer was pale, her fingers brushing against Kali’s as they stood there. Kali wavered on her feet, and Deucalion leaned heavily on his cane. Ennis’s eyes were dark holes in his face, his jaw set as he stood behind the others, his arms crossed.

They looked more like enforcers than gleeful reality show hosts coming to bring them good news.

Stiles steeled himself for the worst.

Deucalion straightened, his back ramrod straight as he directed his attention toward the crowd. Stiles had the unnerving idea that Deucalion was staring right at him, despite the dark glasses that hid his eyes, and he wondered if everyone else felt the same way. He had a definite presence.

“If you will recall, I told you that you had to work harder,” Deucalion said, his clipped words echoing off the walls in the small room. “And I am pleased to say that you rose to the challenge and did exactly that. Congratulations. You are through to the live show.”

The words didn’t fully register until Malia screamed and threw her arms around him, holding on hard. She smacked a loud kiss against his cheek. “We’re through! Together! We did it!” she shouted.

“We did it!” Liam echoed a half beat later.

They did it.

Holy shit, they actually did it.

“We did it.” Stiles couldn’t seem to find his voice, his throat still raw from the panic attack. He tried again, managing louder this time. “We did it.”

“We fucking well did.” Malia leapt up, holding out her hands to pull Liam and Stiles with her. She yanked them close and Stiles fell into the hug, gripping them both.

There was more shouting, yelling, absolute chaos as everyone celebrated. Stiles could hear the rough sounds of Liam’s breath in his ear, felt the dampness of Malia’s tears. He couldn’t separate out the voices of the others, only knowing that they were all as excited as he was.

Excited. Not terrified, excited. This was it; he was on the cusp of everything he’d ever wanted. He could win this all and take care of Derek and Rosie the way they deserved.

“There’s still a little paperwork,” Jennifer called out over the noise. When Kali let out a piercing whistle, they all quieted to let her speak. “You can fill it out in the morning,” Jennifer continued. “We’ll have our producers meet with you, go over the contract, and then you’ll have plenty of time to catch your flights. I recommend waiting to celebrate until you’re home. Get some sleep.”

“You’ll be arriving back Sunday night and entering the group house,” Kali said quickly. “You will be assigned a roommate. You will be expected to behave in an exemplary manner. While this is not a reality show about the house, you will be on film there, and clips may be used to show your life outside of the show. Everything from this moment forward belongs to this event. Remember that.”

Stiles wasn’t going to have much time at home, but he planned to make the most of it. He needed to spend most of his time with Derek and Rosie, but he also needed to say goodbye to his Dad and Scott, even if it was only temporary. He had to make arrangements so that they could come see the shows, because he was going to be in that group house for a long time.

He intended to win this thing, which meant he’d be there until the end.

“Get some sleep,” Ennis rumbled.

That sounded like a good idea. Stiles wavered on his feet as they tried to separate out their things in order to head to their own rooms. Becky stopped them before they could go, setting the camera down on a chair as she reached for the bag of cookies. She opened it up and handed them each a cookie before taking one for herself.

“A toast,” she said.

Malia giggled, the sound high-pitched and tired. Liam leaned against Stiles’s shoulder and raised his cookie into the air. “A toast!” he echoed, a little too loudly.

“To winning this thing,” Becky said firmly.

They lightly clicked their cookies together, and this time when Stiles bit into it, the sweet chocolate tasted like bliss. Perfect, like a sign of future success. “To winning,” he said around the mouthful, because there was no other way this story could end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding a tag for Original Female Character(s) because Becky's around. I've also updated the chapter count because I think I know how long this will be! That chapter count may change, but it gives me a target for now.
> 
> See you back here on Saturday, April 25th for our next update!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for therapy and depression. 
> 
> This is one of my favorite segments I've written. I hope you like it too.

**NOW**

Stiles slumps low in the chair, his long legs askew with one leg bent and the other stuck out straight. He taps his fingers against his abdomen in an unknown beat that has the familiar cadence of anxiety.

In the chair across from him sits Dr. Jessica Smythe. Sounds fake, but apparently it’s her real name, emblazoned on multiple diplomas displayed around the room. “Call me Jess, if you want,” she’d said when he first sat down thirty minutes ago.

He’d decided on “Doc” because Jess felt too familiar, and every time he said Smythe it felt like he was addressing a villain in a comic book.

They’d spent twenty minutes going over the NDA and his medical history, then making sure Stiles felt comfortable that she wasn’t about to spill his secrets to the media.

The last ten minutes has been spent in silence.

“You don’t have to talk, but I have a feeling you’re going to get very bored if we do this for an hour every time. Plus you’ll start wondering what you’re paying me for,” Doc said, her tone reasonable. She leans forward, gestures at him. “I’m here to help you. And you sounded like you want to be helped.”

“What am I going to tell you that you don’t know already?” Stiles mutters. “My life is an open book. For the last five years, everything I’ve done has been blasted into the media.”

“And you hate that,” she says.

“I knew what I was getting into when I auditioned,” Stiles snaps back. Whether he hates it or not doesn’t matter. It’s part of being famous. He went into the competition intending to win and make a name for himself. This is what happens in the aftermath.

“That doesn’t mean you have to like it.” Doc sits back, her hands folded against her stomach. There’s a soft swell there, and Stiles wonders if she’s pregnant. It’d be rude to ask, but he’s still curious enough to wonder. She doesn’t seem to care that he’s looking as she continues, “You have ADHD, anxiety, and panic disorder. I’m guessing that at this point, you’re also suffering from depression. You haven’t been medicated for any of the above since you were a teenager.”

Stiles licks his lips, not sure if that’s judgment in her tone or just a statement of fact. It’s true, after all.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would like it if you did, so we can ensure your record is complete. Have you ever been treated for substance abuse?”

Stiles laughs before she finishes the sentence. “My best friend’s dad was an alcoholic, and mine had some trouble with self-medication after my mom died. I used to drink while partying with the band, but other than weed in high school, I haven’t done anything that wasn’t prescribed, and in the amounts prescribed. I got off the Adderall in high school because I had the ADHD under control. I’d developed coping mechanisms, and I hated knowing that I was taking someone that half the kids in my class would pay a ton to buy off of me. When the panic disorder started, I didn’t really respond well to anxiety meds. There was one that made me get really depressed. The doctor figured it was because my body chemistry has some weirdness with how it metabolizes things, but it means that now I’m pretty careful. Things don’t usually work like expected on me, so why bother trying to get high?” He shrugs. “I don’t need meds.”

She makes a small noise, and again Stiles can’t tell if it’s meant to judge or not.

“I can’t prescribe meds anyway; I’m just a therapist, not a psychiatrist,” she says plainly, a small smile tilting her lips. “If you wanted them, I could send you to someone we could both trust. But if you don’t want them, and you’re willing to put in the work, I think you’ll be fine without.”

A muscle jumps in the corner of Stiles’s jaw as he clenches his teeth together. “The work,” he repeats.

“Therapy is work, Stiles. You have baggage.”

He does his damnedest not to laugh because he’s pretty sure he could fill his entire tour bus with his baggage.

“Our goal is to start going through that baggage and unpacking it, one suitcase at a time,” she says. “The trick is identifying it in the first place.”

Stiles has a feeling it’s easier to identify than she thinks. Derek. Rosie. What feels like a lifetime passing in the last five years since he sold his soul for fame. He won the lottery and lost everything else, and it’s all his own damned fault.

See, his baggage is right there out in the open already. Nothing to unpack.

“What are you thinking about?”

Stiles doesn’t want to go into the details. “Where I am now. Where I was.”

“Are you happy?”

He gives her a look because that is an incredibly stupid question. “No,” he says flatly. “Obviously I’m not.”

She makes a soft noise, nodding. “Have you been pretending to be happy?”

Oh.

“Yes.” He shifts his gaze to look past her. “This is my band. We’re incredible together, and I love them like family. We’ve been on the road and someone has to keep us going, right? That’s my job.”

“Why is it your job in particular?” she asks.

“Because it is.” That seems obvious to Stiles. When she doesn’t respond, he gestures angrily, “Because they’re my band. Because I’m supposed to take care of them, and make sure they’re okay.”

“A band is defined as a group of musicians, yes?” she asks.

Stiles’s gaze narrows. “Yes.” He lets the silence stretch before he asks the obvious question. “Why?”

“I remember when you were on the show,” Doc says.

Stiles’s back goes stiff. He sits upright, pulling his feet in to tuck them under his chair. His shoulders stiffen, his hands falling to his knees so his fingers can dig against his ripped jeans.

“I remember that they showed clips of you, Malia, and Liam often throughout the season. The three of you became a unit from the first day you met,” Doc continues. “And I also remember that there were several times during the season that Deucalion reminded you that they were looking for the next star singer, not a band. But you managed to keep them with you after you won. And you formed your band.”

“That’s right.” Stiles can’t refute any of that; the media got that right, at least.

She shifts her focus back to him, head tilting as she regards his stiff posture. “All along you wanted a cooperative,” she says gently. “You never wanted to be the star. And when you became the star, you brought them with you. You created that cooperative around you, forcing it into being despite everything Deucalion did to try to keep you from it. He was searching for the next great solo star, and instead, you three gave them the next great band. You did that for them, and they stuck by you and did it for you.”

Stiles nods once, because that sounds about right.

“So,” she says slowly. “If you are a cooperative—if you have done everything you can to keep from being the star—why do you think that you, and solely you, are responsible for the band?”

Her words are a kick to the gut. The air rushes out of him and he slumps forward, clutching his stomach, because he has no idea how to react to that. For a moment his chest feels tight, and he wonders if he’s going to tumble into a panic attack, but no, his eyes are wet, and water drips onto his knees, leaving tiny wet droplets on his jeans.

A soft rustle, and she hands him both a single tissue and a small box holding more.

Breath shudders and he tries to hold on, tries to keep from crying. Someone will hear. Someone will know. He has to keep up the façade.

“Let it go,” she murmurs. “You’re safe here.”

All it takes is one hiccup and he’s lost. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, just that he is, and now that he is, he can’t seem to stop. They aren’t hard tears. Not earth shattering, not the kind that shake his body with heavy gulps. Just a slow stream that won’t stop, won’t stop, won’t stop…. He inhales roughly, and it sounds like a rasp and all he can think is that he’s ruining his throat.

He needs tea with lemon and honey. He has to be ready to perform.

He always has to be ready to be on.

But he can’t seem to stop the tears.

He finally resurfaces to a half-empty box of tissues and a pile of soaked ones in his lap. His throat is raw and his eyes are puffy, the world blurred when he blinks at where Doc still sits in her own space across the room.

She smiles gently. “How did that feel?”

She’s not asking if he’s better. She’s looking for an honest answer, he thinks, so he gives her one.

“Painful.” He’s hoarse, and he touches his throat, wincing.

“I’m not surprised.” She holds out a hand, and he gives her the box, exchanging it for the trash can she pushes close to him.

He unloads the snotty pile of tissues into the can, and stares at them there. “I can’t remember the last time I cried like that.”

She makes a small sound that he thinks is understanding. “Do you remember what we were talking about before you cried?”

He exhales, rubbing at his eyes before he pushes his hair out of his face. “Pretty sure you were implying that I’m trying to go it alone, and I shouldn’t be. That they’re there for me.”

“I think a lot of people are there for you, if you need them,” she says.

Stiles knows that’s true. Malia bails him out when he does stupid things. Liam, who is the least sensible of them all, always has the right answer when Stiles needs it. In their own ways, they’re all broken, but they try.

“Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention,” he mumbles, and she hums like he’s gotten something right.

“So,” she says, altogether too cheerful for the moment. “Earlier I said that you’re going to need to put in the work in order for therapy to help you.”

“I remember,” Stiles says dryly. It still gives him the mental image of unloading the baggage hold from under the tour bus, then neatly lining up the cases to open them one by one to show off his dirty underwear.

“That means you have homework.” She leans forward, one hand on the table next to her. “Would you like something to write this down?”

He waves her off. “I’ll remember.”

She holds up two fingers. “There are two things I’d like you to focus on before we meet again next week.” One finger drops. “First, take a look at the people around you now. This isn’t going to be easy because a part of depression is turning inward. You’ve felt responsible for a long time, but they’ve been there. I want you to look and try to see what you might have been missing. Really look at them, and more importantly, reassess your role in the cooperative. Instead of viewing yourself as the leader, and as someone responsible for every decision or mistake, take a look at how you belong as one part of the whole.”

That doesn’t sound like fun at all. “And two?” Stiles asks dryly.

“This is getting ready for future homework.” She holds up the second finger again. “Two. I’d like you to start thinking about the people in your past. You’re here, Stiles. Whether you’re willing to consciously admit it or not, being here is your way of creating a bridge to the past. To your father, your best friend, and yes, your ex-husband and your daughter. I’m not going to ask you to atone for past mistakes. We aren’t there yet, and I think we’ll discover that while you are at fault for somethings, not every wrongdoing rests on your shoulders. What I would like you to do is make a list of things you could have done differently. Things that you regret, perhaps. Or things that resulted in a turning point in your relationship. Don’t overdo it. Just five things to think about, and what you might have done instead.”

“So homework is like finding a knife and stabbing myself repeatedly,” Stiles mutters.

“Homework is removing the dirty laundry from your bags and checking for stains, then putting it all through the wash so you can start clean,” Doc says quietly. “Homework is the hard part, yes. We’re unpacking Stiles, and you’ve been on the road for five years almost now. There’s going to be a lot to do.”

#

Stiles gets home in time for dinner. Lori brings food into the dining room while Brett helps carry the heavier platters. It’s nothing complicated, just a simple dinner, and apparently someone got there before Stiles to tell the staff to eat with them. They all pull out chairs and sit down together like they’ve been doing it for days.

Maybe they have and Stiles hasn’t been paying attention.

Lori and Brett are talking to Mason and Corey about the local club life, while Liam glares daggers at Brett. Kira and Malia have their heads bent close together, and every once in a while Kira glances at Stiles, flushes, and then rushes back to their whispered conversation. Stiles would feel far more paranoid about that, but he trusts Malia to handle whatever it is that has Kira flustered.

Hayden sits quietly across the table from Liam, somehow managing to ignore him and all other conversations at the same time. As Stiles watches, she takes a slice of turkey from her plate and lowers it, dropping it in two pieces between Dex and Nurse on the floor. Stiles leans back to look under the table; the dog makes a pleased whuff as he devours the meat, while Nurse pretends not to notice.

Stiles sits back upright to find Hayden looking at him. He smiles slightly as he takes a slice of turkey and drops it quietly as well. Her smile answers his as she looks away.

He tries to stay silent and no one really seems to notice that he isn’t taking part in any of the conversations. Maybe this is normal for him these days. He can’t remember his own behavior when he tries to think about it. To analyze it. Because he has homework.

Conversation flows around him, but he can’t quite catch any of it. He thinks Mason and Corey made plans to go out with Brett and Lori that night to some club. Stiles suspects he should object, but out of the entire band, Mason and Corey are the two that seem to be invisible to the public eye.

It’s funny, really. Supposedly the media loves a romance, and they sure as hell loved speculating about Stiles’s love life. But Mason and Corey have been together since before the band even started, and it’s like they don’t even exist. Stiles suspects that’s because he and Liam and Malia stole the spotlight.

He envies them now. The fact that they can go out for a night of fun sounds like a great way to just let go. But not for Stiles.

He pushes back from the table, standing without a word. Malia stops speaking abruptly and looks up at him. “It’s not like we eat together all the time,” she says.

“If you’re about to tell me to sit down until everyone’s done eating, don’t bother. I have homework, Mom,” Stiles says dryly. Malia frowns, but Liam nods.

Hayden reaches for a fresh plate and slaps two thick slices of the homemade bread on it, then piles on turkey and cranberry, and a dollop of stuffing. She squishes it together and the cranberry oozes out the sides of the quick sandwich. She shoves the plate toward him. “Here. You didn’t eat enough.”

Her tone is brusque, but her expression is gentle, and Stiles has a feeling that she’s treating him just the same as the dog or the cat. Except he doesn’t have to fight for his scraps.

He takes the plate, pulling it close to his chest. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m—”

He’s going to go to his room and think about therapy, and try not to crawl into a hole and forget about everything else. When the others just look at him, he doesn’t want to say he’ll go out, or that he’s up for another movie. “I’m going down to the pool later,” he says slowly. “I didn’t get to walk today. I’m going to go swim some laps, maybe sit in the hot tub after. If anyone else wants to join me.”

“I’ll probably come down,” Liam says. He elbows Malia, who bumps into Kira.

Kira’s head shoots up. “Swimming. Yes. We’ll be there. You should invite your cute friend. What?” She glares at Malia. “He’s cute.”

“He really isn’t if you know him, but you’re not listening to that, are you?” Malia says.

“Dude, no, I thought you were coming out with us,” Mason protests. For a moment Stiles thinks he’s talking to him, but it’s Liam that scowls and shakes his head while Mason looks disappointed.

Kira leans close to Malia, and Stiles suspects he now knows what they’ve been talking about. He’s surprised that Malia hasn’t managed to dissuade Kira. Malia’s blunt, and it’s been a long time since she’s had any favorable thoughts about Scott.

Kira turns back and opens her eyes wide and hopeful as she watches him.

Stiles sighs. “Fine. I’ll see if Scott wants to come over for a swim. Just remember he’s a normal working human who probably has to be up at the crack of dawn to go play with the kittens and puppies.”

The aww sound Kira makes is almost too high-pitched to bear.

It seems like a good moment to exit, so Stiles takes his sandwich and makes his way up to his room. He sets the sandwich on a table when he gets there, and falls back on the bed. Phone in his hands, he opens up a new text to Scott.

It’s been forever since he texted him.

_Malia and Kira say you should come over to swim. You know the address. We have a full size pool and a hot tub._

There’s no point in waiting for an answer; Scott will either come or he won’t. Stiles tends to think that he won’t, given that he still seems pretty pissed off.

They were brothers, once. As best friends, then as actual step-siblings once their parents were married.

It’s Stiles fault that it all fell apart.

He groans, and drops one hand across his face. “It’s not atonement,” he mumbles, like it really makes a difference in how he thinks about his homework. “Just five things that maybe I could’ve done differently.”

He convinces himself to sit up and put the phone on the night stand. There’s a notebook in the drawer which is suppose to capture song lyrics. He hasn’t written much other than random snips and phrases in a long time, but he still doesn’t want to write his homework in it. Instead he tears out a few sheets, and shoves the notebook back out of sight.

He spreads the sheets out on the bed and writes names at the top.

Scott. Dad. Derek. Rosie.

Derek’s name stares back at him accusingly, and Stiles knows he can’t even start with that one. Not yet. He tucks that sheet under Rosie’s, then shoves his dad’s sheet under Scott’s. That leaves him only two.

On Scott’s he writes in too-large letters: _I never should have introduced you to Malia._

The words are huge and glaring, and he can feel them like a sour rumble in the pit of his stomach. He crumples up the sheet and if it takes his dad’s with it, so be it. He’ll try again another time.

That leaves him with Rosie, and he smoothes it out carefully. Five things he would have done differently.

Where should he start?

_I never should have left you behind._

What the hell was he supposed to do? Should he have taken Derek and Rosie on tour? Derek would have had to give up his job. Rosie wouldn’t have had daycare, or school. They would’ve been dragged from place to place, never having any stability.

Stiles crosses off the last two words, changing the sentence: _I never should have left._

That sounds about right.

Too right.

Fuck.

He picks up the paper and Derek’s falls away from behind it, landing on the bed. Stiles’s pen pushed so hard against the one page that the words pressed through and the same phrase is embedded under Derek’s name: _I never should have left._

“Fuck!” The word echoes back at him from the wall and he can’t deal with this now. Not now, maybe not ever. What was he thinking? He crumples up the pages and tosses them in the trash, the crinkle loud as they fall against the previous ball of paper already there.

He leans over the edge of the bed, hunched over his knees with his head in his hands. He stays there, breathing in and out slowly, keeping the anxiety at bay, until there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Hey,” Liam calls out. “I’m heading down to the pool.”

Liam probably gets it. He probably knows what Stiles is dealing with right now. Maybe not exactly what he’s doing, but the kind of task he was told to do. And why. Liam’s giving him the out to put this off until later.

Stiles is a coward and he takes it. He gets changed into his trunks and he leaves the paper behind, and tries not to think about how Rosie’s eyes are watching him from her picture, waiting for him to sit down and think about what he’d do different.

He doesn’t need to come up with five things; the answer should be easy.

He’d do everything differently, and at the same time, he wouldn’t change a thing.

That’s why he’s so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Next chapter we return to the past with the start of the show, and that will post in two weeks, on May 9th. It is already drafted and just needs to be edited. I'm trying to write in clumps, but right now even though the outline is done, the drafting is going very slowly because my routine is so... not routine. And my writing laptop is also our streaming laptop for our evening TKD classes, which is causing scheduling problems. I am trying desperately to find a new routine to work around this, and will let you know if we're going to need to spread out posting or skip a week at some point.
> 
> In the meantime, comments are love and the breath of creativity and life. I love you all, and thank you for being here!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the show begins...

**THEN**

The days passed quickly. Stiles barely had any time at home before he had to be back in Los Angeles, moving into the house with the other twenty-three finalists. He spent every second at home with Derek and Rosie before packing enough clothes to be able to get through at least two weeks. While he’d been told there would be a laundry service for the house, he had no idea how often they’d take the clothes and he wanted to be comfortable.

When he made it back to the cast house, he was sent upstairs to find that he was rooming with Liam again. The house might have been unfamiliar, but the clothes strewn on one side of the room were at least something that almost seemed homey after the week they’d already spent together. It helped to give Stiles a small anchor while the rest of him felt like he was at sea.

This was a lot, but Stiles knew he could get through.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the amount of work. The few episodes he’d seen made it look easy. He’d pick a song from a list that fit the theme for the week. He’d meet with his professional coach for the week; this early in the competition he didn’t think it would be someone famous. And he’d get ready to perform live on Tuesday night, and hope he wasn’t voted off the show on Wednesday.

The truth was that it was a lot more like Hollywood week all over again.

They were starting off with songs from the top forty in the month each contestant was born. And Stiles was born right in the middle of the 1980s, with all the hair and shoulder pads and fluffy pop music. He thought about doing Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” but when he got the official list, it had a line through it, which he figured meant the show couldn’t get the rights. Besides, it wasn’t a good showcase for his singing talent. He discarded Wham’s “The Edge of Heaven” for the same reason along with “The Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins. They’d be fun. They actually had the potential to be a lot of fun, but they weren’t going to do much for him in the competition.

Hell, his birth month didn’t have a lot to choose from in the end.

Fine. He decided to play with the heartstrings of the audience instead, and picked out one of the sappiest songs on the list just so he could dedicate it to Derek.

Song choices had to be submitted by Sunday night, but he didn’t get approval until Monday morning. The cast was split up into groups, and four at a time they met with the musicians to go over their arrangements.

When Stiles tried to explain what he wanted, tapping the timing out against the top of the piano, they stared back at him. “It works,” Stiles insisted, singing a few bars at the pacing he wanted. A little faster overall, a little slower in parts, switching up the rhythm and adding a little more backbone to the ballad.

“It totally punches like the Karate Kid, right?” one of the younger girls said cheerfully. She held up her phone and aimed it right at him, the click heralding the snap of a picture. “I need to insta you. I think you’re the old man in the competition.”

“I’m only twenty-eight,” Stiles grumbled. He was pretty sure there were others who were picking songs from the 80s to sing. Not Liam, he was well into the 90s for his choice. But Malia was choosing from 1988, and he thought he’d heard someone else saying they were born in 1989.

“I’m nineteen,” the girl replied cheerfully. She stuck her hand out, barely shaking his when Stiles took it. “I’m Kelly, and I’ll be singing ‘Say You’ll Be There’ by the Spice Girls because it’s fun, and I can play with vocals, and I think it’ll really show off my voice. I don’t want to do a ballad and bore the judges completely.”

She had a really sweet smile, but her eyes were hard enough to match her snide commentary on his choice. Stiles didn’t like her at all. It didn’t help that Malia was stuck with her as a roommate and had overheard her talking trash about every other contestant on the show.

Stiles pasted on a smile that was just as fake but hopefully more charming. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of youthful energy to spare,” he said.

The other two in his group were the twins—the youngest two contestants at sixteen. Stiles might not be an old man, but felt the difference between himself and the other three as the twins talked about songs that were popular when Stiles was in middle school as their choices from their birth year.

They spent the first half of Monday working through their arrangements in rehearsal, then the second half in wardrobe. Monday night Stiles stayed up late working with Malia and Liam in his room as they tried to nail down their performances. Tuesday morning went back into the studio for rehearsals before they did a walkthrough on stage, then it was back into wardrobe and makeup to get ready for the live show.

Stiles felt like they’d just started preparing and here they were, about to walk out on stage. He’d put his phone away, but he’d already seen the message saying that Derek and Rosie had arrived and were heading inside. Somewhere in that audience his husband and daughter were waiting and watching for him.

He fidgeted in the green room, barely paying attention to the screen showing the other performances. He tapped against his chair until Kelly whined loudly enough that someone else snapped at him to stop. As soon as he was given notice that he was on deck, he was out of his seat and at the door, following the producer as she walked through the dark halls, her heels tapping sharply on the floor on their way into the wings.

“They’ll show your montage on the big screens, and you’ll walk down the staircase to the stage. Move to the center where the microphone is waiting, and begin. When you’re done, exit into the wings on the other side where a camera will be waiting for a post-performance interview.” She reeled off the instructions by rote, and Stiles nodded as if any of that made sense to his nervously addled mind.

Walk down. Talk. Perform. Exit. Interview.

Damn, he missed Becky. He knew she was around somewhere, and a part of him hoped that she’d be the camera on the other side of this, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get that lucky.

He heard his own voice talking about growing up with a love of music in the distance. The producer nudged him. “Go,” she hissed.

He set one hand on the rail, and carefully descended the curved stairway at the side of the stage. The mic waited on a stand at the center, and he walked across to it, lifting a hand to wave at the audience as he went. Rather than adjust the stand, he simply took the microphone down and held it carefully just the right distance from his mouth so he wouldn’t get feedback.

“Hey,” he said.

The judges were front and center, and they were absolutely the only things he could see. He knew how large the theater was from rehearsals earlier, but the lights bearing down on the stage washed out the seats, making them almost invisible. He wanted to squint from the way they were aimed directly at him, but he smiled and resisted the urge, focusing instead on the way the judges were under their own spotlight.

Ennis leaned on his elbows, waiting. Kali whispered something to Deucalion, who looked as if he’d eaten mud, and Jennifer smiled encouragingly.

Stiles felt awkward, waiting for someone else to talk. He’d said hey, after all.

“Stiles Stilinski.” Deucalion straightened up, his hands clasped on the table as he leaned forward. His dark sunglasses reflected the light. “Tell us, what do you plan to sing tonight?”

“I was born in July 1986, in the heyday of glam pop, hair bands, and power ballads,” Stiles said, his voice ringing out. “I thought long and hard about my options, and in the end, I decided that I wanted to sing to my husband tonight, since he’s here for me. So I’ll be singing ‘The Glory of Love’ by Peter Cetera.”

The lights shifted, shining a clear spotlight on the seat where Derek sat, the one next to him empty as Rosie curled in his lap. Stiles could see them both clearly as Rosie curled closer to Derek, making a too-tired face as she hid her eyes. Derek’s brow furrowed, and Stiles imagined the soft growl Derek probably uttered as he raised one hand to shield Rosie from the glare.

Stiles touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss, mouthing, “I love you.”

The lights came back to him and the judges, leaving the audience in darkness as the opening strains of the song rose around him.

“_Tonight it’s very clear, as we’re both standing here / there’s so many things I want to say. / I will always love you. I will never leave you alone_.” Stiles poured his heart and soul into the words, the fingers of his free hand tapping at his side during the quicker beats of the first two verses. He marked out the rhythm he specified, the way it rolled and thundered more than the original, and the way the drums slid up into the chorus.

He planted his feet and held his hand out, reaching to where Derek was in the audience. “_I am a man who would fight for your honor. / I’ll be the hero that you’re dreaming of. / We’ll live forever, knowing together that we did it all for the glory of love._”

His fingers itched with the need to drum, to participate in the music as more than just a vocalist. Instead he pulled his hand back in, reeling the music into his heart as it drifted softer. Slower. He repeated the final line and let his voice ring out, taking the line longer than it was in the original, showing the purity of his sound before it ended.

He bowed as soon as the music cut, ears ringing from the thunderous applause.

“Stiles.” Jennifer called his name, and Stiles moved to the mark on the stage that was set in front of the judges.

He raised the mic to his mouth. “I’m guessing you have some comments for me.”

Jennifer laughed, her cheeks flushed. “That was beautiful.”

Kali leaned forward. “We met your husband and daughter at the audition, and even then we couldn’t doubt your feelings. This song rang true.”

“From the heart.” Ennis touched his chest.

Stiles’s eyebrows went up; that was a rare sort of comment from Ennis.

“Yes, yes, your voice was lovely and it is painfully obvious to anyone that you are in love,” Deucalion said dryly. “However.”

Stiles’s stomach dropped down into his feet. He could see the weapon pointed at his heart, and there was no way to dodge.

“That song was safe.” Deucalion’s words dropped like bricks, solid and sharp. “You need to tell us something we do not already know. Let us see past the façade, Stiles. We know this part of your story. Tell us the rest. Step out of your comfort zone and take a risk.”

Stiles bit the inside of his cheeks, and tried to smile through the criticism. The smile felt tight and stretched across his face. That song was a risk for him. There were no drums he could use. The beat was primarily slow and steady. He couldn’t do anything but sing. As far as he was concerned, that was the biggest risk he could take, relying solely on his voice. “Thank you,” he said carefully. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He barely registered the host stepping up, the cheerful patter that led to Stiles raising his hand and flashing his contestant number with his fingers in a plea for votes. He stayed in the fugue as he was ushered off the stage and into the wings, where Malia leapt on him and he caught her automatically as she kissed his cheek with a loud smack.

“That was fantastic,” she crowed. “Absolutely amazing. God, I love it when you sing. Just think of all those girls and guys out there who are just dreaming about that voice of yours now.”

Stiles lowered her slowly, one arm around her waist as she leaned into him. He took a step and stumbled, suddenly exhausted as the adrenalin from the performance abruptly faded. She took his weight, holding him up and helping him move slowly to the chairs off to one side. He ended up curled on his side, his head on her shoulder as she stroked his back.

“You okay?” she murmured. “Because I think there’s someone waiting for your post-performance interview.”

Fuck. He was supposed to be hyped. Wild with energy. And all he really wanted to do is fall over right now, then find Derek as soon as the show is over.

He twisted on Malia’s lap and turned toward the cameraman, someone he didn’t recognize, and tried to smile.

He could hear Liam in the distance and it sounded like he was nailing his performance. Good.

“How did that feel?”

It took Stiles a moment to process the question. “Exhausting,” he answered honestly. “It felt good while I was doing it, but now I feel like I ran a marathon in those 90 seconds of singing. They don’t even let us do the whole song and I’m still worn out.”

“How did you feel about the judges’ critique?”

Gutted.

No, wrong answer.

Angry.

That was better. Even if he couldn’t say it.

“They liked my voice, and since that’s why I’m here, I really couldn’t ask for better, right?” Stiles said, keeping his tone as even as he could. “If Deucalion thinks I should take risks, well, then I guess I’ll be looking out for a good risk to take next week.”

“That sure you’ll be back?”

Stiles raises his hands to flash his number again. “You know what to do,” he said, knowing this would go out at the end of the show. “I bet you can’t wait to see what kinds of risks I take.”

The cameraman straightened up as applause signaled Liam’s exit from the stage. Stiles took the moment to burrow comfortably back into Malia’s shoulder.

A few minutes later, when Liam bracketed him from the next seat, he could relax entirely as they all curled together in a comfortable pile.

“We all did great,” Liam mutters against Stiles’s shoulder. “We’re coming back. Audience loved us.”

Stiles raised one hand and Liam half-heartedly smacked it for a high five. He agreed. They were going to make it through and take this competition by storm. This was only the beginning.

#

As soon as the broadcast finished, the contestants were hustled back to the house. Stiles sat on the bus with his phone in his hands, hunched over the screen. _They said I can see you at the house, but we have to watch tape first. This is the only chance I get to see how we looked and how the judges reacted while I was singing. I couldn’t process anything but you while I was on stage._

He sent the text and stared at the phone, waiting for the reply.

_How long?_

He exhaled. _One hour, give or take. Give them my name. You’ll probably be there with some of the other family, too. There’s this sitting area with a welcome desk at the entrance of the house, and we have some rooms on the first floor where we can meet with people. They’re studios when we’re rehearsing, but we don’t need those tonight. I love you. I’ll see you soon._

Stiles shoved the phone back in his pocket, reassured that he’d see Derek and Rosie soon. Rosie was probably already asleep, but that was okay. He’d still get to hug her before sending them back to their hotel room for the night.

Derek was there for these first two shows only. After this Stiles knew it would be too much for him. For Derek’s job, for Rosie’s schedule. He had to get every second out of this that he could.

As the bus pulled up in front of the house, Kelly squealed loudly. She jumped out of her seat and rushed down to where Stiles sat with Malia, Liam in the seat ahead of them. She shoved her phone in front of Stiles’s face, and Stiles saw some blue website with pictures of him and Malia. It looked like a screen capture of the moment right after she jumped on him.

“They totally ship you,” Kelly giggled. She scrolled down to another one, where the poster had zoomed in on where Malia’s lips were pressed against Stiles’s cheeks. This one was rimmed in a thick red heart and had Stalia written across it in bold cursive. “You’ve already got a ship name. Isn’t that so cute?”

“What the fuck is a ship name?” Malia muttered, rubbing at her eyes. “I was napping. Stop squealing.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously that old? I mean, God. Ship name. It’s when they squish your names together to make a single name because you’re just that good together. Stiles. Malia. Stalia. Get it?”

One of the twins—Stiles still hadn’t learned to tell them apart, so it was either Ethan or Aiden—nudged Kelly from behind. “You’re blocking the way,” he said. “Fangirl after we get off the bus.”

Kelly’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God, I am not fangirling.” She huffed and turned on her heel, typing furiously on her phone as she stalked off the bus.

Aiden or Ethan stood there a moment longer, his hand on the back of the seat between Stiles and Liam and his twin lurking behind him. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly before he left.

“The next time you try to tell me I am just a baby, I am going to remind you that she is an actual child and the sixteen year old twins are more emotionally mature,” Liam muttered.

“I have to live with that. Imagine waking up with her in your room every morning,” Malia hissed. “I’m never sure if she’s going to be cackling, live-streaming some makeup tutorial she’s making while still in her underwear, or getting ready to kill me in my sleep.” She turned to stare out the window to where Kelly still stood outside the house, tapping at her phone. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“She’s just a kid. She’s not that bad.” Stiles was still willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Kelly wasn’t the person posting the ridiculous pictures of him and Malia. She was just stupidly enthusiastic about things she didn’t understand. He’d met people like her before: the kind of person who was more interested in him as a gay best friend than as an actual bisexual man. The kind of person who was more interested in the stories about people than the actual reality. “I don’t think she’s actively malicious.”

“Let’s talk about this again in a week.” Malia patted his hand, then shoved at his shoulder. “And let’s get in the house because I see a bunch of black cars pulling up, and one of those probably has your hottie of a husband and adorable daughter in it.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Derek’s hot, yes, but please don’t say that. Especially to his face.”

“I’m straight, and I can objectively say that Derek is really good looking,” Liam mumbled. He stood slowly, and looked a little like he was falling asleep on his feet. Malia squeezed into the aisle between him and Stiles and got an arm around him, escorting him off the bus carefully so he didn’t fall.

Stiles wanted to look at the black cars that were lined up along the drive, but the producers hustled them into the house and up the stairs to the theater on the second floor. They filled in all the seats, and the lights went out almost as soon as they were settled.

Liam tilted, his head on Stiles’s shoulder, and Stiles knocked his elbow lightly against Liam’s chin. “Wake up,” he hissed. “This is the only time we get to see this.”

“Mmph. Fine,” Liam grumbled. It took another poke, but he sat upright, arms crossed tightly as he stared at the screen.

They sat and watched the actual show, including all the pieces that were cut in on the fly. Stiles could now see the montage that he ignored while walking down to the stage, including the clips from his audition with Derek and Rosie. As he took his place and introduced his song, the camera shifted to show the light over Derek and Rosie. Again it was easy to imagine the low growl that accompanied Derek’s scowl, as Rosie squirmed when the lights hit her face.

Stiles raised his hand to his mouth, pressed fingertips against his lips as he watched himself perform.

“You have total heart eyes,” Malia murmured, and Stiles had to agree.

He did exactly what he’d intended to, and sang for Derek.

The cameras followed him as he exited the stage, shifting to the moment that Malia jumped in his arms and he caught her, before the show switched to a commercial.

Stiles categorized the other performances. Kelly had a voice; he had to admit that. She was tiny, but her pipes had a reverb that belied her size. On the other hand, Deucalion called her a belter and accused her of being too much theater and not enough pop star, and Stiles kind of agreed.

Liam’s and Malia’s performances were good but not great, easily middle of the pack. He was surprised at how different the twins were, and maybe that would help him tell them apart eventually. He hadn’t paid much attention to them during rehearsals, but Ethan had performed a fun send-up of “When I Grow Up” from the Pussycat Dolls that managed to be both serious and fun at the same time, while Aiden rocked to “It’s Not My Time” by 3 Doors Down. Both were good, but Ethan had the energy and expression that made his performance one of Stiles’s favorites of the night.

In his mind, it was easy to see who was in danger. Victoria had been pitchy and terrified enough that her voice cracked. Colin’s song choice was boring and safe and did nothing to show any any of his personality. Devon forgot the words halfway through and saved the performance with some improvised vocals, but it still felt off. He figured Victoria was out, and either Devon or Colin. Probably Colin; Devon had better stage presence. These first few weeks were going to be rough with the constant double eliminations.

Stiles was out of his seat as soon as the video ended and the lights came up. He paused only long enough to hear instructions for the following morning, then he made it to the door and down the stairs before anyone else.

Derek was curled on a couch, lying back with Rosie asleep on his chest. There were other people scattered around the room, but Stiles didn’t care. He headed straight for Derek and knelt down next to him. He settled one hand on Rosie’s back, the other cradling Derek’s face as he leaned in for a kiss.

Derek’s hand threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, curling close and clinging to him as he returned the kiss, smiling against Stiles’s lips.

“I missed you,” Stiles whispered.

Derek touched his cheek lightly. “It’s only been a few days,” he said softly.

They could move, Stiles knew. They should move, to get some privacy. But if they did, they might wake Rosie, and Stiles really didn’t want to do that. So he stayed where he was, crouched in front of Derek, voice low and soft as others moved around them and drifted away to the practice rooms.

“It has been a very, very long few days,” Stiles admitted. “The only good parts are having Liam as a roommate again, and that both Liam and Malia are here.”

“The competition isn’t a good part?” Derek asked. He shifted, sitting up a little more so Stiles could sit next to him, Rosie half-sprawled across both of them.

“I’m glad to be here.” Stiles was conscious of the idea that they could be filmed. He didn’t see a camera person in evidence, but he had a feeling there were cameras mounted in every room except the bedrooms and bathrooms. “It’s just exhausting. We have breakfast at 8 tomorrow, then the next challenge is announced so we can pick our songs and start rehearsals for that, all before we even know who makes it through. So two people are going to spend tomorrow working on a song for next week that they won’t even get to perform.”

It’s a disheartening thought, that he could put all that work into something and the audience could just decide to send him home.

“So no idea yet what next week is going to be?” Derek murmured. He nuzzled against Stiles’s cheek, and Stiles turned into the motion, leaning into the kiss and luxuriating in having Derek there for the moment.

“Nope,” Stiles murmured. “But you can be sure that some week I am going to manage to do ‘Call Me Maybe’ because that’s a priority.”

“Just because it’s your favorite shower song—”

“It’s a fun song,” Stiles protested, as Derek swallowed a laugh and buried it in a kiss. “Hey, I’m being serious.”

“I know you are, that’s the best part.” Derek pulled back on a rough exhale. “This isn’t going to be easy, but you know I’m here for you, right? I don’t know if I’ll get to come back, but Rosie and I will be watching every week, and we’ll vote for you, and I’ll send you videos of her. We’ll talk.”

“I know,” Stiles said, and he does know and that’s what’s going to keep him stable. He frames Derek’s face with his hands, leaning in forehead to forehead. “I know.”

“Do we finally get to meet this tall, dark, and handsome man of yours?” Malia’s voice was loud in the room, echoing off the walls.

Rosie shifted, waking up with a furrowed brow and low grumble. “Shutup,” she muttered.

“Be nice,” Derek told her with a soft laugh, his hand carefully shielding her eyes from the light. “Shut up isn’t polite.”

Rosie rubbed at her eyes as she rolled over, frowning as she watched Malia and Liam approach. “Be quiet,” she announced firmly. “‘m tired.”

Liam held back, but Malia came in close, crouching front of them. “You must be Rosie. I’m Malia.”

Rosie shoved her thumb in her mouth, speaking around it. “Pretty,” she said. Her gaze flicked to Liam. “Hello.”

He raised his hand. “Hey.” Liam shoved his hands in his pockets then, rocking back on his heels. “We just… wanted to meet your family.”

“Because he talks about you all the time.” Malia stuck out her hand. “I’m Malia. It’s good to meet you.”

Rosie took her hand out of her mouth and grabbed Malia’s fingers. “Rosie,” she said, before shoving her hand back in her mouth.

Derek laughed under his breath. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

“Don’t believe everything—”

“Believe it,” Liam cut Malia off before she could finish. “I’m pretty sure Stiles wouldn’t lie.”

“I like these two,” Stiles said, tilting his head towards Derek’s shoulder. When Derek put his arm around him, Stiles curled into his side, cradling Rosie closer to himself. She exhaled and slipped back into sleep easily.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Derek was still looking at Liam and Malia, but Stiles didn’t really care. He just needed this time close to his husband, and if they wanted to keep talking that was fine with him. He only had until Derek went back to the hotel. He was going to take every minute he could get.

They were all going through tomorrow, Stiles was sure of it. They were in it for the long haul, and trying to do it while knowing Derek and Rosie were back in Beacon Hills was going be hard. He’d steal these moments while he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working hard enough to build up a buffer so I can post faster than every other week, but I'm not there yet. Thank you so much for being patient with me, and for reading and commenting!! <3 <3 <3 Y'all keep me going.
> 
> The next chapter will post on Saturday, May 23, 2020.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic attack. To bypass it, when you get to the line "Did you think I'd abandon her" search for "I'll be fine" and that should skip you ahead to the end of it. Please care for yourself first, especially in these weird times.

**NOW**

The pool isn’t going to be enough.

It’s good for a little while. Stiles can swim laps and he can get out of his head temporarily, but then it all comes crashing in again. And water isn’t the best place to be when he feels like he’s drowning.

He swims first thing in the morning. It lets him wash away the lingering dreams and nightmares, and lets him start the day refreshed. He spends his mornings relaxing, avoiding conversations about the next album. If the band is in the media room he might join them for a movie. But he’s not ready to start working on songs, or start trying to find music in the depths of his mind.

Malia and Liam seem to understand and give him space. They must talk to Corey and Mason because no one brings it up. They just share the house like it’s one big vacation and no one’s waiting for them to get back to work.

That part is nice.

The way his brain starts itching right after lunch isn’t nice at all. Without travel and work to occupy him, he needs something. His hands shake, his foot taps, and at one point he climbs to his room at the top of the house, then back down again, three times before Malia catches him on the mezzanine, looking down at the entryway.

“Go for a run,” she says.

She’s dressed in spandex shorts and a sports bra, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Sweat makes her bangs damp and curly around her face, and there’s a damp stain down her chest. She swings headphones from one finger. “Really,” she says. “I mean it. It’s pretty nice out, for September, and you could totally take advantage of it. Or at least go walk the dog. Briskly. Get out. Do something.” Her gaze narrows. “Which does not involve driving across town to that park. You know which park I mean.”

The park across from Rosie’s school. Yeah. He knows what she means.

“Dex could use a walk,” he says slowly.

“Dex could use a walk. Or a run. You should put on sneakers just in case.” Malia puts her hands on Stiles’s shoulders, nudging him towards the stairs back to his room. “Go get changed, then get the dog and go. Put on some good music. You like running.”

“I do like running.” It’s just been a while; Stiles hasn’t wanted to go for a run since that first time he took Dex for a walk and saw the Camaro. “What if I run into Derek again?”

Malia just gives him a look, her eyebrows going up in an expression that reminds him all too much of his ex-husband. “Really? You’re going to let that stop you? He was probably just driving by that one time and it won’t happen again. So go. Run around the block. Hell, you’ll probably feel better by the time you get to the gate if you run all the way down the driveway.”

She has a point. Stiles knows it, and he knows he’s supposed to be active. Running is good, and it got him through a lot while they were out on tour. So he should get changed and go.

He should do this.

“Go,” Malia orders, giving him a little push.

Fine. “Going,” he agrees.

It doesn’t take long to get changed. He grabs his wireless headphones and has a playlist cranked in his ears before he gets downstairs. Kira is there with Dex on a leash, while Lori holds a squirming Nurse in her arms. The cat yowls as Stiles exits the house, and Stiles can hear her scratching at the door door as soon as he closes it. Nurse is not pleased at being left behind.

Dex sits his ass down on the front steps and woofs back at the door.

Nurse howls in response.

Dex makes a low noise.

“The cat is not going to keep up with us running,” Stiles says. He raises his voice. “I promise, I’ll bring Dex back in one piece, Nurse. I’m not kidnapping him, and I’m not going to hurt him.”

He has to tug to get Dex moving, but once Dex gets the idea that they’re running, not walking sedately, he’s all in. Stiles wraps the leash around his hand a few times so he doesn’t have to worry about Dex having the leverage to tug him off balance, and sets a good pace down the drive.

Heel-toe. Step-thump. Rock-roll.

Running has a rhythm to it, and Stiles loves it for that. He loves that it feels like a bass beat that’s counterpoint to his heart. It intertwines around the beat that slides through his body with every pump of blood, and he can vary the two rhythms together based on his speed.

He can lose himself in that beat, too, letting it create a music that is altogether brand new in his subconscious.

His breath is already rough in his chest by the time he reaches the gate. He slows down, letting Dex have a little more lead as he punches the code so he can get out. Dex sniffs around the wrought iron and picks the perfect spot to do his business.

Stiles taps his pocket to make sure he didn’t forget bags in case Dex has messier business still to do. He doesn’t want to leave that lying around.

They go through the gate together and pick up speed slowly, rebuilding the comfortable rhythm. Stiles heads in the direction where he knows a park will be. Liam’s told him there’s a path just inside the park that goes around the entire edge. No vehicles are allowed, so it’s all runners, dogs, and walkers, without any bikes or skateboards to get in the way.

Stiles wonders just how fast he can go. How hard can he push himself, and still be able to breathe and haul his own ass back home?

He’s found a good speed by the time he reaches the park. He’s fully inside his head except for the knowledge of where Dex is. Dex whuffs like he’s pleased to see the path as soon as Stiles turns onto it. It’s clear at this time of day, only a few people in the distance, so Stiles inhales and lets it out slowly once before he puts on more speed, encouraging Dex to keep up.

He’s racing himself now, or maybe he’s trying to outrun himself. There’s a lassitude in his limbs, and his head is full of the beat he’s created. The steady bass has become more of a snare, a rat-a-tat-tat that stumbles forward in rapid pace. He sinks into it, eyes ahead, listening to the way his sneakers sound on the dirt path.

Someone’s ahead of him, and Stiles swerves to the right around him, but Dex pulls on the leash, attracted to something on the left. Stiles stumbles, his pace broken, and he almost falls as he flails out, trying to get his footing.

Dex stops dead, and Stiles manages not to fall into the person he wanted to pass, shifting abruptly to move around him on the left instead of the right. “Sorry,” he gasps out as he leans down, hands on his knees, shoulders hunched.

“You should stand upright, keep your body straight so your lungs can fill with—” The voice stops dead.

It’s a familiar voice.

Stiles’s chest clenches and he presses his hand to his shirt, pulling on it. “Derek,” he manages to say.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is low. Careful and flat.

Stiles straightens carefully, and at the small tug, Dex returns, sniffing at Stiles’s sneakers, then moving to sniff at Derek’s shoes. “Sit,” Stiles commands, and Dex does, his tail thumping as he looks hopefully between Stiles and Derek.

Stiles has a training treat in his pocket, so he tosses one to Dex and hopes that’s enough to appease him.

“You did buy the big house,” Derek says. “I thought I saw you.”

“What are you even doing on this side of Beacon Hills?” It comes out more accusing than Stiles means it to, and he winces inwardly at the sound of it. He does his best to keep his expression even, not wanting to show how unsettled he feels.

“We moved into an apartment on this side a few months ago,” Derek admits. “We had the house, but it was just too big and too—” He cuts off, mouth pinched and eyebrows furrowed. “The apartment is enough for us, and there’s a great playground there. Our place is within walking distance of this park, and I can drop her off at school in the morning on my way to work.”

Stiles does not flinch. He will not flinch at the mention of the school, since Derek has no idea that Stiles remembers where Rosie goes, or has seen her at school there. “Mm,” he says, trying to stay neutral. “Yes, we bought the big house. It has a studio in the basement. And a pool. I just felt like getting out and running today.”

“And you have a dog to walk.”

It seems like pointing out the obvious, but Stiles does it anyway. He tugs at the leash, and Dex stands up, moves a little closer to Derek. Derek, in turn, crouches down and offers a hand for Dex to sniff. That’s all Dex needs to crowd in close, licking at Derek’s cheek and trying to knock him over.

“This big lug is Dex, and if one of us is walking him and you see the cat following him, that’s Nurse. She hates it when he’s out of sight; they were strays together.” Stiles’s gaze narrows when Derek doesn’t seem surprised by this story. “Scott had them at the clinic, and I—”

“Adopted them. I heard,” Derek admits, his cheeks flushed.

“So you knew I’d moved into the house,” Stiles says.

“Just like you knew I’d moved to this side of town,” Derek counters.

Stiles takes a step back, shakes his head. “No. Actually, I didn’t know. Dad showed me a ton of pictures of Rosie, but no one bothered to tell me you were living over here. I just saw you that one time, right after I got Dex and Nurse. That’s it.”

“Mm.”

Stiles can’t tell by that answer if Derek doesn’t believe him, or if he’s just trying to process information. It’s Derek, so it could be either.

Silence falls between them and Stiles isn’t sure how to break it.

“No tour right now?” Derek asks after a long moment.

“Yeah, we uh… we needed a break.” Stiles needed a break, but he’s fine blaming it on the band. Derek nods like it makes sense, but there’s no real sympathy in his expression. It’s purely polite, not like he actually understands.

“You’ve really been working hard the last few years.” Derek’s tone is neutral, but Stiles can hear the accusation. That’s what drove them apart, after all. Stiles won and his family lost, and Stiles remembers every aching second of that with brutal precision.

“We have.” Stiles wants to be less awkward, but he can’t figure out how. “We work really well together as a band.”

“I remember.”

Stiles looks down at where Dex is sniffing intently at a tuft of grass that grows higher than the rest. “We needed a little time off the road while we work on the next album. I figured that place would work out, since we don’t have to commute in order to record.” He huffs. “I suppose I should’ve thought of that a long time ago, but I never could have afforded this house before.”

“It’s amazing how little money you had at first after being famous.” Derek’s expression is utterly blank.

Stiles supposes he deserves that. “I know I fucked up. If that’s what we’re going to talk about—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Derek says quickly.

Stiles inhales, holds onto the breath in an attempt to regain control of his lungs. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he agrees softly. He reaches up with his free hand, shoving his bangs out of his face. Sweat drops on his nose, and he blinks it away from his eyelashes.

Dex picks that moment to pee on the tuft of grass, marking it as he looks up at Stiles for approval.

“Good dog,” Stiles murmurs.

It reminds him of something, and he glances at Derek. “Scott mentioned that you were thinking of getting a pet for Rosie. Even in the apartment?”

“It’s pet friendly.” Derek shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking at a point somewhere in the distance. “We could get a small dog. Yours might be a bit big for it. She thinks she wants a pony. She’s been cutting out pictures of miniature horses and insisting they can be trained to live indoors. Our apartment is a good sized loft, but I don’t think it’s horse-sized.”

“Those horses are smaller than some dogs,” Stiles points out.

Derek’s gaze shifts to him. “If you try to buy her a horse, I am divorcing you again.”

Stiles’s laugh is short and sharp, surprised out of him by the words. He can’t tell if Derek meant to be funny, sour, or angry, and he can’t quite figure out how to feel in response.

His breath is short, though, and he twists his hand in his shirt, pulling it away from his chest. He can get through this. In and out. In and out. Slow and steady.

“I wouldn’t buy her a horse,” Stiles says.

“Your dad threatened to, so I figured since the Stilinskis like to spoil her, you might, too. You’ve got the money for it.”

Stiles can’t tell if it’s a dig or just a statement of fact. “I won’t buy her a horse,” he promises.

They’re on the topic. It has to be safe to ask. All Stiles needs to do is put words into sentences and force them out.

“How—” He stumbles to a stop, wets his lips and swallows hard. “How’s Rosie doing? Does she still like to be called—?”

“She’s still Rosie.” Derek rescues him when he can’t quite finish the sentence. “She tried out Nora for a week at the start of school. There’s only one other Nora in her grade, and she’s in the other class, so she thought maybe it’d work. But she came home one day and flopped on the beanbag chair and said she didn’t feel like a Nora, she feels like a Rosie, so she’s sticking with that.”

The laugh shudders through Stiles, sticking in his throat. “She’s got opinions. Good for her.”

“She takes after her dad,” Derek says quietly.

“Where—” Stiles stumbles to a stop again as he looks around, taking in the wide stretches of grass and people and the playground in the distance. He inhales, his throat tight. “Is Rosie... Is she home? Alone? She’s too young to be—”

“I didn’t leave her home alone, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is sharper when he interrupts. He pinches his fingers to the bridge of his nose, hand over his face. “You realize that she’s—”

“I know how old she is.” Stiles manages to get the words out, even though his heart is racing now and it’s getting harder to breathe. “She’s in first grade. Dad showed me—her first day picture.” The words are broken up, not quite full sentences. “Where is she?”

“Did you think I’d abandon her? I’m not the one who did that,” Derek snaps.

Stiles reels back, pulling harder on Dex’s leash than he means to. The dog woofs querulously, staring at him when Stiles goes to his knees. “I—”

“Shit.” Derek follows him down, hands in front of him, reaching like he can’t quite bring himself to touch Stiles.

Dex crowds into him, and Stiles leans against him, struggling for breath after breath, the world sparkling around the edges. It’s too bright and too dark. His throat is a straw. His heart is so loud that it drowns out everything. No longer a comforting rat-a-tat-tat, it’s a booming bass kettle drum thud in double-time.

Derek’s voice is in the background, words that Stiles can’t understand. There’s a question, his voice lilting up over and over like he’s asking something, and Stiles doesn’t know what it is but he nods and nods just to get Derek to stop asking.

Maybe he’s going to leave. He should leave. Derek doesn’t need to put up with this anymore.

A gentle touch to his cheek, cool fingers against his overheated skin. Stiles shudders, feels something damp sliding over his face, and then he’s shadowed. A hand takes his and presses it against something warm; Derek’s heart is fast but nowhere near as fast as Stiles’s is. Stiles feels it thump beneath his fingertips, two beats for every three of his own.

“Breathe,” Derek whispers, breath a soft rush against Stiles’s forehead.

Stiles tries.

He focuses on the beat beneath his fingertips, tries to make his own heart match up. It can’t, not anymore. They aren’t in sync like they used to be.

But he still tries.

“Breathe,” Derek whispers again, and this time Stiles manages one long, rasping inhalation.

He holds it in his lungs until he feels like he’s going to burst, letting it out in a slow whoosh. The next breath goes by too fast, but it makes it into his lungs at least before it escapes. Stiles shudders, shivering despite the heat. His sweat feels clammy and cold on his skin, and his fingers curl, twisting against the fabric of Derek’s shirt.

It takes time to come down, but he manages to sit back, his knees stiff and aching from kneeling for so long. He crosses his legs and lowers his head, hand dropping away from Derek. “I’ll be fine,” he manages to say.

Silence.

Stiles looks up, and Derek is crouched in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. Derek’s broad shoulders are blocking Stiles from casual view of anyone walking by along the path. Dex is sitting on his haunches next to Stiles still, leaning into him, panting softly.

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles repeats. His voice doesn’t crack, and he’s thankful for that.

Derek holds out one hand, palm up. “Let me see your phone.”

Stiles’s gaze narrows. “Why?”

“Because I want to make sure you’re not trying to get home alone.” Derek wiggles his fingers.

Stiles knows Derek won’t take no for an answer. He fishes his phone out, unlocks it and places it in Derek’s hand. “Fine.” He doesn’t have the energy to argue.

Derek taps something out, then locks the phone before handing it back to Stiles. He takes the baseball cap from his own head and places it on Stiles’s head, tilting the brim down to either shade or hide his face, Stiles isn’t sure. Before he retreats, cool fingers drag against the side of Stiles’s face. It’s an accident, of course. Derek doesn’t care about him any more than an old acquaintance who needs some help.

Dex stands, and Derek points at the ground. “Sit,” Derek orders. “Stay with Stiles.”

Dex plants his ass back on the ground and leans against Stiles’s arm again. Stiles doesn’t want to admit it, but it feels good. He’s thankful that Dex isn’t a small dog, and he can lean into him as well.

Stiles drops his gaze, trying not to watch as Derek walks down the path and moves away.

#

He counts three dog walkers, two joggers—one with a stroller, and a curious squirrel before footsteps approach him directly. He looks up as Malia crouches, her brow furrowed into a deep frown.

“You had a panic attack,” she says quietly. “And you saw Derek.”

“The second happened before the first, but yes, basically, that’s it,” Stiles mumbles. “Do we have to go over it in detail?”

“Yes.” Malia turns and flops next to Dex on the other side of the dog, falling back to lie on the grass. Dex immediately stretches out between her and Stiles, his tail thumping as she rubs his belly.

What the hell, why not? Stiles lies down as well, his arms behind his head, the brim of Derek’s hat shading his eyes from the sun.

He doesn’t bother answering Malia’s not question.

“You scared him,” she says softly.

“It’s not like I meant to.” Stiles pulls the brim lower, closing his eyes. “We had a fight. Which is, y’know, kind of normal for us. Now, I guess. Next thing I knew I couldn’t breathe and I was on my knees and I just had to get through. He waited it out, asked for my phone, apparently texted you, and left.”

“What did you fight about?”

Stiles is thankful that he doesn’t have to look at her while they talk. It’s a little like being in therapy, or like he thought therapy would be. He’s lying down and talking about things he’d rather not talk about. But they’re things that need to come out. Someday. Maybe.

He’d rather just keep it all safely tucked up inside, thanks.

He shrugs, the grass scratching at his shoulders. “Life. What he’s doing on this side of town. Rosie. The fact that I abandoned them.” He reaches up to scratch at an itch on his nose. “Probably all typical topics for two people who used to be married and now hate each other.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Stiles remembers the final fights. If he were Derek, he’d hate him, too.

“Do you hate Derek?” Malia’s voice is so casual that it surprises an answer out of Stiles before he really thinks about it.

“It’d hurt less if I did.” That was too honest, and Stiles wishes he could take the words back. “You know what? I’m fine, and we should get home. Has Nurse torn the house apart looking for Dex yet? I’ll probably be lucky if she didn’t pee in my bed.”

“Kira closed the door to your room after you left,” Malia says with a small laugh. “Lori has a scratch from Nurse, but it isn’t bad. Brett said that if you keep doing things that make Lori get scratched, though, you’re going to have to have a talk about the Jeep.”

Stiles cranes his head; he can just barely see Malia past Dex. “He will not use my Jeep to avenge Lori. Will he?”

Malia is starting up at the sky, one hand shading her eyes. “I think he has way too much respect for old cars to do that,” she says. “But I also think he loves his sister. Do you really want to take that chance?”

Stiles lets himself fall back, relaxing into the grass. There are leaves on the ground, like a brown and yellow blanket where they haven’t been raked up. “I don’t think he has anything to worry about. I won’t be taking Dex on a run again.” He pauses, like this is the real reason as he adds, “It’s just too hard on Nurse. I’ll run alone.”

It’s a lie, of course. The dog still needs to be walked, but they’ve got plenty of land to do that without ever going out into public. The cat can join them there.

Whether Stiles runs again is the question. He has a pool. He can use a treadmill. That’ll be fine.

“This park is really nice,” Malia murmurs. She pushes up on her elbow, waves idly at the next person who walks by. The woman with the jogging stroller slows down, her gaze narrowing for a moment, then speeds up again as she starts talking to whoever is on the other side of her headset.

Stiles can’t hear what she says, but he really hopes it isn’t about them.

He pushes himself up, loops his arms around his knees. Dex licks his cheek, then wanders off to snuffle at the grass and find the perfect spot. Yeah, Stiles is going to need to clean that one up.

It’s really beautiful here. The path around the park is about a half mile long, so he can do a few loops depending on how long he wants to run, not to mention the distance to get here. It’s populated, but not crowded. The people are friendly.

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” Stiles agrees quietly.

Too bad he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back to run here again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you for being here, and for reading, and for supporting me. I'm working on getting more chapters written, but it seems like lately I can write three days out of every seven, and I have to get back to doing original work, too. I keep hoping things calm down, but life is like that.
> 
> The next chapter will post in two weeks, on Saturday June 6th, 2020.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Sorry this is a day late. We're redoing part of the house (because actually LIVING in it means things needed to change) and I've been running around all weekend. But we're here now, and enjoy this next story from the show!

**THEN**

The weeks felt like they were getting shorter, but at the same time, they had more and more to do each week. The first weeks flew by in a quick rush of double eliminations, with one male and one female contestant going home each week. Each week, rehearsals for the following week started before the final elimination, and every time Stiles started a new song he wondered if he’d ever get to sing it on stage. Eventually they slowed down to single eliminations, and he was able to relax. Until only eight of them were left, and it was Queen week.

Queen week was always a bitch. The songs were tough, the expectations were high, and this week they threw a twist on top of it all: two were going home again.

Stiles didn’t feel confident about his performance at all.

This week they were given the day off on elimination day instead of starting the next week’s performance, and Stiles celebrated by sleeping in, then taking over the house kitchen to make a big brunch with Liam and Malia. His phone buzzed in the middle of flipping pancakes; he juggled the spatula so he could wrestle it from his pocket to find a text from Scott.

_Hey, dude, Derek said you guys can have visitors in some big common room or something. Can your Dad and I come over?_

Stiles didn’t hesitate. _Of course. I’ll let them know you’re coming and just text me when you’re here. Want to meet Malia and Liam?_

He didn’t mention the vague panicky feeling that was still twisting in his gut; Scott would see that for himself soon enough.

_Yeah!_

Scott’s response was enthusiastic, and Stiles really hoped this meeting of his two lives would go well. Derek asked after Malia and Liam when they actually got the chance to talk, and they spoke about the press circulating around his relationships. Derek understood that the press loved exaggerations.

Scott wasn’t nearly as positive. Every week after the shows aired, Stiles had received a text asking about whether he’d talked to Derek recently, and how was Rosie doing. Stiles could read between the lines; if gossip sprang up about Malia, Scott asked him about Derek.

Scott was nothing if not protective of the people he considered his family, and Derek was family after marrying Stiles.

But maybe once Scott could see them in person and realize that it wasn’t anything like the press made it out to be… maybe then he’d get it and stop worrying.

Stiles could hope.

Scott texted him as soon as he arrived, and Stiles made it down to the main room as Scott and his dad were just checking in. He wasn’t prepared for the sensation of seeing them both right there in the flesh, after so many weeks away. His stomach twisted, and his hands shook as he stood there, waiting.

Scott raised a hand as soon as he finished signing in. “Hey, dude. Are you even eating? You look pale.”

“Practice room B is open,” Denny the doorman said.

“Tell Malia and Liam we’re down there, okay?” Stiles responded. He just waved in the correct direction so Scott and Dad could follow.

He made it into the room and got the door closed before he grabbed onto Dad and held on like an injured toddler, desperate for a hug. His dad’s arms went around him, one hand patting his head, and that was all it took for the tears to start falling.

“Oh man,” Scott whispered.

Stiles couldn’t hear what Dad said after that, but Scott moved away and furniture slid across the floor as he rearranged it. Stiles closed his eyes and inhaled roughly, trying to get his tears under control as his shoulders shook and his dad patted his back quietly.

“That bad, huh?” Dad asked.

Stiles pulled away, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “I am not the first person who has cried in this room,” he said dryly. There was a box of tissues on top of the piano, and he grabbed two so he could blow his nose and dry his eyes. “It’s just rough, being here and not home,” he admitted. “We’re going all the time. We get up early, we rehearse. We do social things together as a group, like some kind of bonding exercise—it’s all for the media. Then we rehearse. We talk to fans, and we rehearse some more after that. We get to take a break and watch movies, but half the time I’m still trying to think about my next performance and how I can make it better. I need to stand out and be different but at the same time I need to appeal to the audience so they don’t vote me out. I can’t be too different. I have to do what the judges want to see, and I have to be myself at the same time. There isn’t a happy medium.”

Dad’s hands were on Stiles’s shoulders and he held him at an arm’s length, brow furrowed as he looked him over carefully. “Scott’s right, you aren’t eating enough.”

“Malia, Liam, and I made enough pancakes for an army this morning, then ate them all by ourselves,” Stiles reassured him. “I’m eating. It’s just… not necessarily on a normal schedule. Some days I’m lucky if I get a chance to have more than snacks. Some days we’re out for a full four course steak dinner. I—” He glanced at the door. The room was sound-proofed, and the door was closed, but he still felt awkward talking about other contestants in the house. Usually they had a camera person following them in this room, but he suspected there were hidden cameras as well. “I don’t know how private we are here,” he admitted.

“Sit down,” Dad ordered. “We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to talk frankly, because I know you. If you can’t get it out of your head, it’s just going to stew in there until it comes out in a bad way, and I don’t mean crying on your old dad’s shoulder, either.”

“Yeah. I know.” Stiles felt like he’d been holding it all together just fine until Scott and Dad walked in. It was different with Malia and Liam. They didn’t know him as well, and he could put on a mask when he needed to. This was different.

He sank down on the couch between them, smiling as his dad pulled out his phone and immediately opened the photo application. Rosie’s smile was big and bright and bold, and it made Stiles’s heart ache to see the pictures his dad had in his camera roll. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with them?” he asked.

“They come over for dinner every week,” Dad replied. “She talks about you all the time and she’s been very excited that I was coming to see you, just like she did.”

“I didn’t think she’d remember the visit. She slept most of the time she was here.”

Dad laughed. “Not as much as you thought. She’s told me about you singing to her from stage, and all the lights, and meeting the pretty girl—I’m guessing that’s Malia. She and Derek are watching your show—not live, of course. Derek watches it at night, and then they watch it together the next day, too.”

“Didn’t Derek tell you all this?” Scott asked.

Stiles bit his lip to keep from flinching and shook his head. “We haven’t been able to talk as much lately. He’s at work, or I’m at work, or Rosie’s getting ready for bed, or I’m performing. Our schedules haven’t matched up and we’re talking maybe once or twice a week. He tells me how she’s doing in school, and we talk, but not about that kind of specifics. It’s—there’s just not enough time.”

Scott’s frown said everything he was thinking, and Stiles looked away and down to avoid the darkness in his expression.

“I miss him,” Stiles told the floor. “I miss them both. If I didn’t have Malia and Liam here I might be going nuts. Some of the people in the competition are draining to be around.” He’s exhausted by Kelly, and it’s obvious that Ethan was having a tough time after Aiden was voted off a few weeks ago. That’s not even taking into account the way Theo strutted around like he owned the stage, and then tried to stab every contestant in the back as soon as he could.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Stiles went home this week. He’d made the top ten. He had the tour to look forward to, and he could probably get a recording contract out of this. People knew who he was now, and he had decent press.

Except.

“Fuck.” Stiles let his head drop, his elbows on his knees. “I want to win. But I want to be home. I want to do this so I can make everything better for our family. I want Rosie to have all the amazing things that I—” He cut off, glancing at his dad.

“I’m not insulted,” Dad said gently. “I know we had it rough, and I’m proud of what you’ve done. No matter how this goes, I’m proud of you and of Derek and of how hard you two are working on your life together, and your family. Rosie’s an amazing girl, and she’s lucky to have her dads in her life.”

He looked to Scott, who echoed the sentiment with, “Yeah, dude, you know I’m proud of you, too.”

The knock on the door came only moments before it was nudged open, and Malia poked her head in, Liam just behind her. “Hey, I heard a rumor that we get to meet the Stilinski-McCall family,” she said cheerily.

“Most of it,” Stiles said. He sat up and stretched, working out the kinks in his neck as he motioned for them to come in and shut the door. “Melissa can’t really get off work easily, so she’s still home, but this is my dad, and my best friend and brother, Scott.”

Liam grabbed a stool and dragged it over, sitting on it with his knees spread and hands down on the base as he leaned in. Malia didn’t bother, settling on Stiles’s lap to plant a kiss on his cheek, then shake Scott’s hand.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Liam said.

“And yet we hadn’t seen you, except in pictures, so it’s nice to know you actually exist and Stiles isn’t just making you up.” Malia grinned. “Not that he’d do that, but well, we’ve actually met Derek and Rosie. She’s the cutest thing, isn’t she?”

“Derek’s awesome, too,” Scott said, his jaw tight.

Oh no, this wasn’t going to go like that. “Scott,” Stiles warned.

Scott blinked, his eyes wide and puppy-like in their innocence.

“Derek is possibly the hottest guy I have ever seen and I am jealous of Stiles and I think their relationship is amazing.” Malia snuggled closer to him. “I am thankful that Derek’s letting us borrow him and perform with him. They’d better let me visit when this is all over; I’m not ready to give Stiles up any time soon.” She patted his chest, and Stiles laughed because this was familiar and part of his daily life.

He covered Malia’s hand with his own. “Tone it down,” he murmured. “I want all my best friends to get along. Besides, you already know you and Liam have an open invitation to visit us when we’re done touring.”

“I heard you’re a vet,” Liam said, his attention fixed on Scott. “My parents wanted me to be a doctor, but that’s not what I want.”

“Which is why you’re here,” Dad commented, and Stiles felt thankful for that quiet parental approval. “I’ve seen your performances; you’re good.”

“Not last night,” Scott said. When Malia, Liam, and Stiles all looked at him, Scott sat back and spread his hands. “What? Queen’s awful to sing, and I don’t think anyone was really good.”

“The question is who was the worst, and they’re doing another double elimination,” Malia grumbled. “The judges were harsh.”

“I don’t like that Kelly girl,” Dad commented. Stiles would’ve hugged him for that if he didn’t have a lap full of Malia, so he settled for elbowing Dad and getting a nudge back in return. “Her voice is piercing, and that song she did was like a dirge.”

“Technically it is a funeral song,” Stiles admitted. “It’s from a movie, and it plays while an immortal being is watching his human wife grow old and die. It’s a rip your heart out kind of song, and she was probably banking on using that emotional twist to keep herself in the competition.”

“Why did you pick your song?”

Stiles laughed dryly. “I answered that last night when Jennifer said I would have been better suited to something like ‘Somebody to Love’ instead. First of all: I don’t need to find anyone, I’ve already got the best somebody in Derek. Second of all, I wanted to do something fun. I wanted to get my rhythm on and drum on stage. ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ is just a great song to show off with. It’s good theater and good fun, even if it’s not great vocals.”

It was a risk, and he took it. He might regret it now, just a little.

“At least you didn’t pick ‘We Will Rock You,’” Liam muttered. “I thought I did a good job with it, but it’s fucking arena rock and they skewered me for it.”

Malia tilted her head against Stiles’s shoulder, stretching out with one toe to touch Liam’s knee. “I thought you did great. Someone always picks that song, but your arrangement was different than people usually do, and you showed range.”

“Yeah, but was it enough?” Liam’s voice went low. “I thought that by letting it flow into the opening of ‘We Are the Champions’ it’d make it less like arena rock and more like the original song when you’re listening to the album. Also more range for my voice, and for my style. But it ended up just being kind of a mess, because we don’t get much time to perform.”

A mess was how the judges had put it, with Deucalion making the declaration in those flat, clipped tones. Stiles didn’t disagree entirely, but he thought it went better than they said. The judges tended to exaggerate any fault, and unfortunately, the voting population tended to listen to the judges.

Stiles swore the judges had it out for everyone this week.

Queen was never a good week.

“I really liked my arrangement,” Malia said, tapping her fingers against Stiles’s chest idly. “What did you think?”

“I think it would’ve been a good song for Stiles,” his dad commented. “Every time I hear that song I think back to when you were in middle school and the early days of high school, before you and Derek found each other and help stabilize each other. All that anxiety and pressure bearing down on you, and not being out publicly, and feeling like you didn’t know who you could talk to and what it was safe to talk about.”

There’s a lot not said aloud in that statement, like how Stiles was once afraid to come out to his dad. “That’s a long time ago, and it’s not who I am now,” he said.

“Are you saying it’s who I am now?” Malia asked.

Stiles huffed. “I’m saying you’re the one who picked the song and thought it would show your personality.”

“I just like the song.” She snuggled in closer. “It’s a good song.”

Scott cleared his through, and Stiles craned his head to look over at him. Scott’s gaze dropped to where Stiles had his hand on Malia’s hip to stabilize her.

Great.

“Hey.” Stiles nudged Malia. “I think Scott and my dad don’t really want a rehash of the whole performance yesterday. They were there; they heard the judges just as much as we did. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to sit around worrying.”

Malia looked up at him, blinking as her gaze narrowed. “Is that _change the subject, Malia_ or _get out of here, Malia_ because I can’t really tell the difference?”

Stiles glanced at Scott, who coughed again. “I think it’s _I’m really sorry, but I’d like to spend some time with just my dad and Scott and talk about anything that has nothing to do with this show_,” Stiles said, keeping his tone apologetic. “You guys should go do something fun, like take over the TV room and put on something both Kelly and Theo will hate.”

Liam snickered. “You are evil. I can’t wait for you to meet Mason; he’s going to love you.”

“Everybody loves me eventually, but I’m an acquired taste,” Stiles quipped. It was a lie. There were a lot of people in this house who hated him, and he was worried about how the voters for the show felt about him right now. But he felt comfortable with his friends. “Go do some evil work for me, then. I’ll catch up later.”

Malia disengaged slowly, using her hand on Stiles’s chest to push herself to standing. “Are we going to rehearse later even though we’ve got the day off?”

Next week was pop week, and as long as Stiles was still on the show, he was finally going to sing ‘Call Me Maybe.’ There were worse things he could do than spend an afternoon singing one of his favorite fun songs. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”

“Or just come get us,” Liam pointed out.

Malia leaned back in to brush one last kiss against his cheek. “If we are causing chaos in your name, you’ll want to see the results,” she murmured, and Stiles had to laugh out loud at that.

Malia slung an arm around Liam’s shoulders, leaning in close and tilting her head down against his as they left, the door closing behind them with a solid thunk.

“Wow, dude, she really likes you,” Scott said as soon as they were gone.

That was not unexpected.

“It’s not like that.” This was just another reason for his exhaustion from the show, and Stiles had really hoped that Scott could see past it. “Malia and Liam are my best friends here, just like you and Derek are my best friends at home.”

“So I’m like Liam and she’s like Derek,” Scott said flatly.

Stiles looked to Dad for help, but Dad stayed silent, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waited for Stiles to respond. “Not you, too,” Stiles muttered.

“I trust that you know what you’re doing, son,” Dad said, patting Stiles on the head. He levered himself to standing. “I’m just going to go hunt down the facilities while you talk to Scott, so I don’t have to listen to him the whole way home again after the show tonight.” He closed the door behind him as he left, and Stiles glanced at Scott, whose expression remained sour.

“By that, I’m guessing you talked his ear off the whole way here yesterday,” Stiles said darkly. “Scott, you don’t have to defend Derek’s honor. There’s nothing going on.”

“She really likes you,” Scott protested. “It’s obvious to anyone. She’s all over you, Stiles, and it’s not like that’s the first time. Or a private thing. Every clip of you guys has her hanging on you. She keeps touching you like she owns you.”

“She’s Malia and that’s just what she’s like, and she’s not doing it against my will. She’s really physical and so am I, and you know that,” Stiles snapped. His voice was louder than it should be and he hoped to hell that the sound-proofing was solid. “I’m drowning here, Scott, and she and Liam are keeping me afloat. Derek can’t be here, and I’m stressed. I like to snuggle. You know that,” he repeated. “You were my teddy bear when we were kids when I was upset and you never thought it was anything like—” He cut off as soon as he saw Scott flush. “Wait. You thought I—”

“A little,” Scott admitted. “After you told me about liking guys as much as girls.”

“Scott.” Stiles felt betrayed. “It was never—Jesus, a guy can like to touch people without it being about sex. Or romance. It can just be about comfort and friendship. That’s all it is with me and Malia. I know people call her my girlfriend but I trusted you to know the difference.”

“There are all these pictures!”

“They’re just pictures!” Stiles shouted. “Out of context. Half of what I say they clip and take what they want from it because it makes a good story. And maybe it’s keeping me on the show, I don’t know, and maybe it’s good for her, too. Derek knows the truth, and he trusts me, so maybe you could try to do that, too.”

Silence.

“Okay.” Scott’s jaw was set, his expression still tight. “You say she doesn’t like you, then she doesn’t like you like that. And it’s all just made up. I get it.”

Stiles’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you. Jesus, I just—I need you in my corner, dude. I need my family to trust me and get that I’m not like that. I would never cheat on my husband. And Malia knows that, too.”

“Yeah, I get it. Of course I get it.” Scott patted his hand, and Stiles thought about leaning into it before he remembered what Scott said and he held himself back.

As Scott relaxed, a slow smile bloomed. “It’s just, she’s really pretty. And kind of awkward and funny and blunt and nice.”

“Oh shit.” Stiles covered his face with his hand because it kind of made a weird sort of sense now. “Scott, if you’re attracted to her, just say so, but don’t try to put that attraction on me. Own your crush.”

“I do not have a crush,” Scott protested, his cheeks warmly rose.

The door opened as Dad returned, looking in with a dubious expression. “You boys all good now?”

Boys. Stiles almost laughed because they hadn’t been boys for a long time, even if sometimes Stiles still looked around for the adultier adult. In this house, that was usually him, as the oldest competitor. Which was just another thing that was draining.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “We’re good.”

#

It was the worst possible outcome.

Stiles stood between Malia and Liam, his hands gripping theirs, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The lights were hot on the stage, but a part of him felt cold. He swallowed hard, trying not to shiver.

This was Malia’s third time in danger of elimination, and Liam’s second. It was the first time Stiles had stood with the bottom three, and this time he had to do it with his two best friends.

Only one of them was going to be on the show after this. No matter what, he had to say goodbye.

“Smile,” Malia hissed, her foot tapping Stiles’s ankle. She was smiling so hard it looked stretched and maybe a little feral, like the grin on a coyote just before it might bite you.

Stiles felt his face stretch and worried that he looked about the same.

Liam wasn’t even trying, shifting from foot to foot, his free hand clenched by his side. “It’s going to be okay,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Stiles.” The spot swung to him as Deucalion spoke, tone sharp as daggers. “You performed ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and your performance was lackluster at best, more reminiscent of playing drums for a video game than the next great vocalist.”

He shifted his attention to Malia. “You sang ‘Under Pressure’ and it felt lacking, as if something were missing from the performance. This is a solo act, not a group, and you must be able to stand on your own, Malia.”

Deucalion turned once more to face Liam, but Stiles was more aware of the other judges standing just beyond him. Jennifer leaned in to speak to Kali, her hand over her mouth to cover as she whispered. Ennis had his arms crossed, legs slightly spread, more ready for a fight than for judging. When Stiles looked at him, Ennis met his gaze dead on.

It didn’t reassure Stiles at all.

“Liam,” Deucalion said, an edge of exasperation in his voice. “Your song pick was suited to an arena, and your voice did not do it justice. Your attempt to arrange it to your advantage only resulted in a mess.” Deucalion tapped his cane against the stage. “It appears the voters agreed with my assessment, Liam, and you will be going home this week.”

Deucalion never said he was sorry to see a contestant go. Stiles was pretty sure he was actually glad to be proven right. It made Stiles wonder why he did this, if he never thought any of them were really good enough to win.

Liam turned toward Stiles, and Stiles let go of Malia to drag him in, hold on tight for a long hug. Liam’s hands tangled in Stiles’s shirt at the shoulders, pulling on it, and he muttered, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” just barely audible where his face was pressed against Stiles’s shoulder.

Malia bracketed Liam from the back and he turned to her as she stroked through his hair. Stiles couldn’t hear what she whispered, but her expression was soft as she held him.

Deucalion coughed, saying dryly. “How sad to see that we are breaking up the band.”

Liam pulled back from Malia and swiped his hand across his eyes. In the background, music swelled, playing his performance from the night before. He ignored Deucalion and the judges, looking past them to the audience. “Thank you for all your support!” Liam called out. “I’ll see you on the top ten tour!” He waved before walking off, his head held high as a camera and interviewer waited for him in the wings.

“This is it.” Malia’s voice was tight and low, her hand unsteady as she gripped Stiles’s fingers and squeezed tightly. “I need to figure out where to go. What to do. Fuck. I don’t have a job, Stiles. I don’t have a home.”

“And you might be staying,” Stiles replied, squeezing her hand. She looked at him, all confidence stripped away, eyes wide and sad. “You’ll be staying,” Stiles said, trying to be confident for them both. He pulled her in for a Stilinski hug, holding on until Liam’s song faded and Deucalion coughed again.

“If you’re ready?”

“Born ready,” Malia replied, although her smile didn’t touch her eyes.

Jennifer finally disengaged from Kali, stepping up to take Deucalion’s arm and draw him away. “Stiles. Malia.” Her smile was gentle and soft. “We know this has to be a hard week.”

“You think?” Malia asked. She bit her lip immediately after, and Stiles hoped that retort might be edited out during the two second delay on the live broadcast.

“Unfortunately, one of you will end your journey this week. Stiles—” Jennifer cut off, and Stiles’s stomach dropped, his breath suddenly trapped in too tight lungs. “You are safe,” she finally said. “Please join the rest of the remaining contestants. Malia, it’s time to go home.”

Stiles couldn’t move. He struggled to get a breath in, and Malia wrapped her arms around him tightly. It wasn’t fair for her to be trying to help him when she was the one crying on his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly, sucking in air through what felt like a tiny straw. When she pulled back, her eyes were red and blotchy, and his vision was blurred through tears.

“Win,” she ordered, patting him on the chest as her own song filled the theater. She raised her voice, calling out, “This is the last time you’ll be in the bottom, Stiles! You’re going to win this whole thing.” Turning to face the audience, she blew kisses and bowed, then walked off waving.

“Stiles,” Jennifer said quietly.

That unstuck his feet and he made his way unsteadily to where the other five remaining contestants waited. Ethan clapped a hand against his back, while Kelly smiled tightly and Theo glared daggers.

He was still in it. He inhaled roughly and forced back the tears because he was damned well going to put a good face on this, even if he felt like he’d been gutted, his support network torn away in one blow.

#

Stiles made it through the goodbyes with Scott and Dad, accepting their congratulations and trying not to notice how relieved Scott looked that Malia was out of the competition. He couldn’t take long, needing to hurry to get to the show review. He was the last to arrive, and when he did, Theo glanced over at him and shook his head.

“I really thought they’d wise up and get rid of you,” he said snidely. “You’re old. You’re boring. You should put yourself back behind your drum kit where you belong. You’re not made to strut your stuff as a lead singer.”

“Not all lead singers strut.” Stiles dropped into the chair furthest from everyone else. “But hey, if your entire musical knowledge is based on boy bands and pop stars, I can see where you get that idea. Branch out a little. Learn something. It might surprise you.”

He went silent as the show started. Arms crossed tight over his chest, he weathered the emotional blow when they showed how he, Malia, and Liam stood together at the end, and the way it looked like a physical strike as each name was announced to leave.

He looked broken, standing there on the stage by himself. He watched himself leave, and the way Braeden and Becky met him as he entered the darkness of the wings. “That must have been hard,” Braeden said.

The look Stiles gave her was gutted. “I’m really going to miss her,” he said. The camera seemed to shake before he added, “We’ve been together since Hollywood week. I really thought we were going to—” The line is cut off, but Stiles knew what he’d really said. He could see the cuts even though the edit was skillful.

_I’m really going to miss her, and I’m really going to miss him, too. They’re both my best friends on the show. We’ve been together since Hollywood week. I really thought we were going to go to the final three together._

Kelly snickered. “Stalia is all they’re interested in. What are you going to do without her?”

“Malia and Liam were two of the best performers in this competition.” Stiles pushed himself to standing, holding on to the edge of his seat with tight fingers. “Stalia, or whatever you call it, is a fabrication. For fuck’s sake, I’m bi. They could have Stiam. Or Staliam, I mean, why not throw all three of us in bed together, if we’re going to ignore the fact that I’m happily married.”

“Have you fucked them both?” Theo asked. “Can I quote you on that?”

“Fuck you,” Stiles muttered.

He made it back to his room before the tears started. It seemed strangely empty and he wondered how the hell they packed Liam’s things to move him out so quickly. He closed the door, and stripped out of his costume quickly. He pulled on an old graphic T and a pair of sweats, then picked up his phone to look at it.

It was late. Too late.

But he really, really needed Derek.

He touched the number on the phone, then put it on speaker and threw it away from himself on the bed before he could reconsider. It rang several times before Derek’s voice responded huskily, “H’lo?”

“I woke you up,” Stiles mumbled.

“Stiles. It’s okay. I saw the show, but Rosie was struggling tonight and I was rocking her and we fell asleep before we could even make it to bed.” There were rustling sounds, and Stiles assumed that was Derek trying to get Rosie up and into her bed. A moment later a door creaked, then thunked. “So hey. Hi. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Did you see all the way to the end?” Stiles asked.

“The last thing I remember was you standing there after it was announced that Malia was going home,” Derek admitted. “Are you okay?”

“With them being gone?” Stiles rubbed at his eyes and his hands came away wet. Really wet. His shirt was already damp and he didn’t even remember starting to cry. “Not really, no. I pretty much hate everyone still left in the competition, except maybe Ethan. I’m going to miss them. Liam’s already moved out of the house.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was so soft that Stiles had to pick up the phone, cradle it close to hear him. “Are you listening to me?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you,” Derek said softly. “I know it was a really rough week, but you stuck it out, and you came through the other side, and I am so incredibly proud of you. I’m honored to know that you’re my husband, and right now, I can’t wait to be there for the finale so I can watch you kick ass.”

Stiles laughed, the sound choked with tears. “Derek, I—”

“You’re going to be in the finale, right? Because if you’re not, I can’t come cheer for you,” Derek pointed out.

“I thought I was going home tonight,” Stiles admitted. “I thought that was it. It was all over, and I’d just spent all this time away from you for nothing. I was going to come home and go back to my teacher’s salary and we’d be living one moment to the next. And that was it.”

“I want you to have your dreams,” Derek murmured.

“Fuck, Derek, I want you and Rosie to have everything.” Stiles exhaled, touching the phone as if he could reach through it to touch Derek himself. “I want to be able to spoil you rotten, and I want to show you just how much I love you.”

“I love you, too, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “And it’s not that much longer, right? You’ll make it to the end, and I’ll be there with you when you do.”

“I can’t wait.” Stiles hopes he has time before the final shows so he can see Derek then. So he can get his head screwed on straight before he performs that last time.

Because he is going to do it. He’s going through to the end, and he’s going to win this thing. Screw Kelly. Screw Theo. Screw the fucking media. This is his competition and he’s the best damn vocalist on the show.

He just needs to do it on his own.

Which… reminds him. “Hey, Derek. I may have invited Malia and Liam to visit after all this is done.”

“I’m shocked.” Stiles could hear Derek’s deadpan expression.

Stiles resisted sticking his tongue out at the phone, since Derek couldn’t see it anyway.

“They’re welcome here,” Derek added. “You’ve adopted them, I know. Might as well invite them into the family. How’d they do with Scott?”

Not a topic Stiles felt like delving into right then. “It wasn’t awful,” he said, and made a face when Derek chuckled. “You know Scott’s protective. And kind of judgy sometimes.”

“I’ve told him we’re okay,” Derek says softly. “But it’s Scott. He wants what’s best for you.”

“And you.” Stiles touched the phone again. “God, Derek, I really miss you. If I make the final three I’ll get to come home to do some parade thing, so please take that day off for me. I am going to tell them that if they do not let me sneak away for some quality time with my husband, I am not returning to the show.”

While he was certain Deucalion didn’t like him, he got the feeling that Jennifer and Ennis were on his side. It might be a threat worth making.

“I’ll make time for you,” Derek promised. “But right now, it’s late, and I have to get up for work tomorrow, and Rosie’s probably going to be cranky. So I really need to get some sleep.”

Right. Sleep.

Stiles looked at the empty bed on the other side of the room, the sheets already pulled off and gone, stripped like no one had ever used it. Then he looked at his own bed, slightly rumpled and still empty of the one person he wanted in it. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I love you. Good night, Derek.”

“Good night, Stiles. Go kick ass.”

Stiles smiled as he stretched out, still cradling the phone as he closed his eyes. “For you and Rosie, yeah, I will,” he promised. “I love you, Derek.”

“I love you, too, Stiles.”

The phone clicked silent, but Stiles could still hear the soft exhale of Derek’s breath as he slipped into sleep, and he let it wrap around him like a comforting blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back in two weeks, when we return to the present storyline! One of these days I'll be able to go weekly, but not yet. I've been struggling to write these last few weeks, and finding time has been difficult.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on June 20, 2020.
> 
> Until then, see you online!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to therapy again, and yes, it's just as difficult. So be warned about that.

**NOW**

Stiles slumps in the chair, fingers drumming against his stomach. His long legs stick out, one toe tapping the same rhythm as his fingers. Doc sits behind her desk, a pen held loosely in one hand, a fresh sheet of paper on the surface of the desk as she just watches him.

According to the clock on the wall, five minutes have crawled by in silence.

Doc raises an eyebrow at him. “Is this going to be another session where I’m paid to listen to nothing?”

“We talked last week.” It’s been two weeks and this is Stiles’s third session. Last week he’d told her stories about the behind the scenes on that first tour with the top ten contestants. The hour had flown by without Stiles saying a single thing about his current day to day life.

Doc hadn’t asked questions, either. She’d let him tell the stories his way, only interjecting occasionally to mention how something had seemed from the outside point of view, the way the media had painted it.

Stiles could probably get away with it again.

“You talked,” Doc says, and Stiles has a feeling that maybe he can’t get away with it after all. “You told some great stories. If I were a groupie, or wanted to sell your tell-all story, it’d be great. But I’m not sure you actually said anything.”

“You let me get a lot of old grievances off my chest,” Stiles mutters. He has Derek’s cap on, and he tugs the brim a little lower. “If I ever do write a tell-all, I’m going to make sure everyone knows that Kelly was not sweet, and Theo was not charming.”

“Mm.” Doc taps a finger against her knee. “And what about some stories about your life now? How’s your homework going?”

Nope. She’s not going to let him get away with anything.

“It’s not,” he says flatly. “I tore up the lists I started making because I couldn’t get anywhere with them, and no, I didn’t talk to anyone about them. I’ve been working out to try to help my mood.”

“You mentioned running last week,” Doc says. “You ran around the hotel when you were on tour.”

“Security hated it, because if I went running, they had to keep up.” Stiles remembers the grumbling from the tour security guys, except for one who seemed to really enjoy the runs.

“Have you gone out since you’ve been home?” she asks.

Stiles isn’t sure which part of that trips him up—remembering what happened when he did go out, or the fact that she refers to it as home.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

Doc tilts her head. “I don’t know whether to take that as a yes or a no.”

“I have a treadmill,” he says. His throat is dangerously tight, like he’s on the edge of a panic attack, which he shouldn’t be. They’re just talking. “And a swimming pool.”

“It’s not the same as getting outside.”

“I walk the dog around the yard. Grounds. Our land is big enough that we have grounds, and if I stay on our property, it’s not strange if the cat comes with me.” It’s the excuse he’s been using whenever anyone asks what he’s doing. “The one time I took Dex for a run to the park, Nurse scratched up one of our staff and—” His voice trails off at the interest that lights Doc’s eyes.

Right. He hadn’t planned to mention that.

“Was it a bad scratch?” Doc asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. But Brett was irritated that Lori was hurt. He’s a protective big brother.”

“Was it a good run?”

It’s such a simple question.

Stiles should stick with the simple answer.

“It was,” he says.

Doc smiles slightly. “Until?”

“What makes you think there’s an until?” Stiles snaps.

“You don’t need to be defensive. Mind your own business is an appropriate answer, or you can decide to talk about it. Either way, you’re still paying me so you can sit in that chair,” Doc reminds him. “I’m not going to force you to tell me anything.”

He doesn’t have to explain. He doesn’t owe her, or anyone else, an explanation.

On the other hand, every time he goes to the door and doesn’t go for a run, Malia looks disappointed and Liam looks sad.

He’s trying to get outside of his own head enough to be a functioning human being and he’s just not managing it.

“I ran into Derek. I had a panic attack. I learned that he lives on the same side of town as me now,” Stiles says, forcing his voice to stay even. He tangles his fingers together, white from how tight he holds on. “I haven’t left the property since.”

“Not even to shop?”

“I have staff,” he says dryly. “We pay them to shop for us. Food magically appears. Sometimes Lori cooks it, sometimes Hayden, and on one memorable occasion, they all got the grill going and Brett made something magical out of steaks. While arguing with Liam the entire time about the proper way to grill a steak. I think Hayden’s going to kill them both some day.”

“You’re deflecting,” she points out.

Truth.

“I don’t need to go out,” Stiles says. “If I need to go somewhere, I get in my Jeep and go. I came here.”

“Have you been to see your dad? Or Scott?”

“Scott came over for a movie once.” It was an interesting evening and no one died, so Stiles counts that a win.

“Mm.” She goes silent, her expression thoughtful. She shifts her gaze from Stiles, which is nice; he feels less like he’s under a microscope and more like she’s lost in her own mind. She could be writing song lyrics for all he knows.

Right now she’d be better at it than he is.

“Are you happy with this situation?”

He exhales roughly. “It’s fine. I’m just—” He waves his hand in the air, unable to figure out how to say it. “I get on the treadmill and I run for an hour. Or I go in the pool and swim laps. We’ve got weights, and I lift those. I’m doing everything I can to get out of my own head and when the end of the day comes—I’m still stuck in the same place. I’m not going anywhere.”

She smirks. “You could, if you left the house.”

He gives her a dark look. “Haha. Funny.”

She leans forward, elbows on her knees, voice going soft, “Let’s go back to where you said you’re trying to get out of your own head. Why do you need to do that?”

“Because I want to write music, and I can’t find the headspace,” Stiles mutters. He crosses his arms, fingers moving in idle rhythm against his own skin. “We should be getting ready to record a new album, and we can’t start rehearsing because we don’t have any new music. I’m failing the band.”

“Is the fact that you’re failing the band the headspace you need to escape from, or is that headspace creating the fail?” she asks, one hand lifted in query for clarification.

“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” Stiles slides down further, the brim of the cap almost completely hiding his eyes. He closes his eyes, letting the world go dark around him. “I don’t know how to talk about it, and it’s not like I can talk to the band.”

“Why not?”

She makes it sound so simple. “Like you said,” he reminds her. “It’s a fact that I’m failing the band. I fail them, we fail as a group. No music equals no album equals everything just… falls apart.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop, then?”

The question twists around his heart, pulling tight. He presses a hand to his chest, trying to relieve the pressure. “I can’t,” he says. “I need music like I need to breathe.”

Doc doesn’t say anything, and Stiles is grateful for that: that she she gives him a chance to recuperate before she starts questioning again. His hand relaxes when the next breath comes more easily. “I’m not going to stop,” he says slowly. “I can’t stop.”

When he looks out from under the brim of the cap, she’s watching him. Waiting. He sits up carefully and takes off the hat, setting it on the table.

She takes it as the sign he’s offering and leans forward, elbows on the desk. “Talk to me about music,” she says quietly.

“It’s always been there for me.” Stiles lays out a simple rhythm with his fingertips against his knees: tap tap-tap tap tap-tap. “When I was in fourth grade, we had to compete to see who got to play the most popular instruments. Everyone wanted to learn sax, and everyone wanted to play drums. They cared about our grades, our focus, our ability to devote time and effort to something. And for drums, they cared about whether we had any sense of rhythm. I failed on focus in class, and I had horrible grades, but I loved to drum and I had great rhythm. When I started, I didn’t want to stop, and when I got to take lessons, I was so happy to practice. I think the teacher hated it, because I’d drum on anything. It was my way of stimming, and I guess it still is.” He forces his fingers to rest against his knees, and Doc smiles at the motion.

“And I really loved chorus. I mean, all kids like to sing, but I just wanted to sing a lot. It made me feel better, and it was something I could turn to when I needed it. My mom sang with me, and when she—” He cuts off, swallows hard. “When she died, I still had the music we’d shared. I’d listen to her CDs over and over again, until Dad was ready to scream about it. I think hearing them hurt him, but it made me feel better. He got me headphones and we managed to get through it. Music was my lifeline, and somewhere along the way it just started to be part of me. I’m anxious and I drum. I sing. I have words inside my head and they come out. I wrote my first song after she died, and it wasn’t really anything more than a really bad poem set to the same tune as ‘Frère Jacques’, but it was mine and it let me express things.”

It hits him like driving smack into a brick wall. He clenches his hands into fists, his head dropping as he takes the hit and exhales. “It’s always let me express things, and now—it doesn’t.”

“So it’s like everything is getting stuck inside of you and there’s no way to get it out?” Doc asks.

“Maybe.” It’s close, but not quite right, and he’s not sure how to say exactly what it is that’s happening inside his head and his heart. “Music’s like air, right? I need it to live. And I had it for so long. It was just this part of my life, but I was never really serious about it.” He gestures, not really sure what he’s pointing at, but maybe if he waves his hands around it’ll make more sense to her. “I had the perfect life. I married my high school sweetheart, even though everyone thought it was crazy when we started dating because I was a freshman and he was a senior. No one thought it would last. But Derek thought it was cute that I sang to him when we danced. Or that I sang in the shower. Sometimes even if we were in the shower together.”

One eyebrow goes up, and Doc seems amused.

“If you’re wondering if I ever sang an ode to him during sex, then yes, yes I did,” Stiles says frankly. It’s actually something that makes him smile, remembering how they could laugh together then, with Stiles miming a microphone in his hand while he sang to Derek. “Music wasn’t just about getting out the bad feelings, I could also communicate all the good things. Our proposal had music. I sang to him during our first dance when we got married. I sang to him, and to Rosie, all the time. It was just… it was like this part of our life. Like I got to create this perfect soundtrack.”

“But that changed,” she says softly.

The music in his mind goes off-track with a discordant twang, and Stiles winces. “Yeah. It changed. I tried to make a better life for us, and instead I ruined everything good that we had.”

Doc taps her pen against the paper, and Stiles itches to take it from her and even out the rhythm into something that makes sense. The uneven beat grates against his senses.

“Who came up with the idea of you trying out for the show?” she asks.

“Scott, actually.” Stiles remembers the night it first came up. “Scott was over and he didn’t want to miss an episode of the show—I think they were down to final five or something—from the season before mine. So he asked if we could put it on while we were playing a game together. Which means I beat his ass at Catan that night, because he was distracted. But he kept listening to them and after every performer he’d be like _Stiles, you’re better than that_ and I thought it was pretty sweet, but I wasn’t sure I agreed. Derek nodded along like it made sense to him though, and when Scott said he’d vote for me if I were on the show, Derek agreed.”

“And Scott asked you to try out?” Doc asks.

“No, actually, Derek saw the audition listing.” Stiles starts tapping again, a syncopated rhythm that’s taken up root at the back of his brain. “He showed it to me over breakfast when it was something like a week away, and asked if it was that show Scott loved. Then he asked if I wanted to try it. I actually said no, that first time. Why would I want to do that? I had a good life, right? I was a music teacher, and hey, we weren’t rich or anything, but we had a small house, and we were surviving, and we had our baby girl. I was happy. We were happy. And I was all set to forget about it, but I mentioned it in passing to Scott, like oh hey, can you believe Derek thinks I ought to do this. And he said I should, and after that it was like it got under my skin. I started to think about what if I won? What if I could actually get out there and do something with my drums and my voice, and maybe I could make a difference for our family. Maybe I could give us the life I’d never had growing up, and Rosie would never want for anything, and it’d be amazing and perfect. I’d save us, and we’d be just—” Stiles stumbles to a stop, bites his lip. “It didn’t work out that way, obviously.”

“What did music mean to you then? When did you decide you wanted a band, rather than to be a solo star?”

She’s starting to dig deeper, and Stiles wants to shy away from it, but at the same time, there are words in his mouth spilling out before he can stop them. “I never wanted to be a solo star,” he says emphatically. “That’s not what it was about. Sharing my music, that was incredible, and once I got the idea that I could do it, I loved it. Music was my lifeline, and I wanted to give that to other people, the way I’d survived on what music gave me growing up. And I wanted to create that safety net for our family. It was like I suddenly had something to say. I suddenly wanted this thing that was almost too big to believe in, and music was how I could get there. Then I met Malia and Liam and that was just—I found the other pieces of my brain.” He touches his fingers to the sides of his head, explodes them out. “I didn’t even see it coming. I had no idea there would be something like that out there for me.”

“Did they change how you felt about music?” Doc leans back, tilts her head.

“No,” Stiles says quickly, but he has to change the answer when he thinks about it. “Yes. They expanded on it. They helped me give voice to the things inside my head. I could start playing something, and they’d pick up on it and make it into something more. We were always better together than we were apart. I’m still amazed I could win on my own. I thought that once they were gone, I would be, too.”

He remembers the exhaustion, and being caught up in the rush. “Music became something more, then. It was life, and it was a tool, and it was going to save us. And I still feel it.” He thumps against his own chest. “I still need it. But it’s also the thing that took Derek and Rosie away from me. It was supposed to save us, and it destroyed us. But I can’t just let it go, either. Everything’s changed, and there’s so much more going on, and even if I walked away from it all now, the music would still be there. Like something I need. But I can’t get at it.”

It hits him, abruptly, what it’s like, and he feels the tears well up at the realization. “It’s like a panic attack,” he whispers. “It’s like that moment when you know it’s not real. When you know that it’s just all in your mind but it doesn’t matter because your heart is racing and the air is out there but you can’t get it into your lungs no matter what you do. Music is everywhere and I can’t breathe it in.”

It rolls over him like thunder, shuddering through him as the tears flow. He shakes, and wraps his arms around himself as he leans forward, eyes closed and head bowed, trying to curl up. Something rustles, and he feels heat in front of him, a shadow in his light.

“May I touch you?” Her voice is gentle and all he can do is nod. He has no words, the tears stealing away his voice.

When she puts her hands on his shoulders, he crumples, sliding from the chair to the floor. He collapses in on himself, and she pulls him in, patting his back as he cries silent, shuddering sobs.

He isn’t trapped in the tears this time; he’s aware of every moment passing, of the way she is careful and offers him a tissue, withdrawing as soon as he is able to sit up on his own. She speaks to him, and he responds with silent nods or a shake of her head, consent or not as needed.

“Can you breathe?” she asks as the tears slow, and he nods his head. She hands him another tissue, and he blows his nose.

“Is this going to be a thing?” he asks, gesturing with the soggy tissue. “Because I should start bringing my own tissues if it is.”

“I can afford to supply them,” she says with a small smile. She sits back on her heels, watching him. “You ready to get back in the chair?”

He could, but that would take effort. He shakes his head, instead unwinding his body so he can sit upright and cross-legged. He blows his nose again, wipes his face dry and rubs at his aching eyes. “I think I’m done.”

She pushes back and sits on the floor several feet back from him rather than returning to the desk. She mirrors his pose, her posture loose and easy. “To answer your question, depending on what baggage you’re dealing with, yes, it could be a thing. I’m pretty sure you have a lot to work through. And hey,” she smiles slightly, “if it hurts, that means we’re starting to get past the part where you’re numb.”

“Numb is easy,” Stiles mumbles.

“That’s why your mind takes you there,” Doc agrees.

Stiles supposes that makes sense. He rubs at his chest because his heart aches, like there’s a hole in it that’s supposed to be filled by something. Derek and Rosie. Scott. Malia and Liam. Music. But none of that is there. Even the things that are in his life don’t seem to be the same as they used to be.

“So,” Doc says.

Stiles blinks. “So… what?”

“I have an idea, and you are either going to love it, or hate it.”

She looks far too pleased with herself, which makes Stiles think he’s going to hate it.

“What?” he asks warily.

“Forget about your homework,” she says, and for just a brief moment, Stiles thinks it’s all going to be okay. “You should still observe your friends. That’s not a bad idea in general. But making lists, looking for ways to atone—which I know is how you’re thinking of it—isn’t working for you. So we won’t do that.”

“And what will we—meaning me, not you—do instead?” Stiles asks dryly.

“Write a song.”

Stiles stares at her. “So, we’re going to write a song. Since when do you write music?” he quips.

“I’ll have you know that I have entire folder of angsty teen emo lyrics from my high school days,” she replies with a grin. “I won’t torture you with those. I just want you to write one song for someone in your life—past or present, it doesn’t matter which.”

“Did you miss the point where I haven’t been able to write anything for the new album?” Stiles points out. It seems like a very large, valid, important point. “I’m not writing lyrics right now.”

“I didn’t say to write for the album.” She sits back on her hands, stretches her legs out, crossed at the ankles. “I don’t even want you to show it to anyone. Not even me.”

“You said to write it for someone.” Stiles is absolutely confused now.

“Music gives you a voice,” she says gently. “And I think you have a lot of things you want to say right now, and no idea how to say them. But if you say them in public, then everyone knows. It’s like your heart is stripped bare and put on display. It’s taken the refuge out of music. Everything you do is for the media, and for your fans. You’ve lost the ability to have music as something personal. So I want you to create something that is meant to be personal. Don’t record it. Don’t show it to anyone. Just… say what you need to say, and how you need to say it. It’s a song for someone, saying the things you need to say, but it’s also just for you. They never need to hear it. No one does.”

After the last several years, that seems alien. The idea that he could even be allowed to create something that no one else hears is wrong. He’s paid to write music. He creates in order to put food on the table, keep a roof over his family’s head. He writes the songs for his band so they can keep going.

He hasn’t written something without thinking about who else it belongs to in a very, very long time.

His fingers tip against his knees, the ghost of a melody whispering at the corners of his mind. “And you don’t even care if I do it,” he says slowly.

“I care if you do it, but I don’t need to hear it,” she corrects him. “Think this’ll work better than your last assignment?”

He licks his lips, not sure if he can taste words there or not. But the music might come to him. It might push through him like a wave and carry words out. Or it might not. But he can try.

He nods once, agreeing. “I can try.”

She smiles broadly. “And that’s all anyone can ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being with me for another update! I'm continuing to write ahead, but am not yet at a point where I can post weekly, sorry. :( The words are really hard for me lately, plus I'm plotting the next book in the PHU original series, which is due to start posting in September. EEK.
> 
> ANYWAY. I hope you all are having a good start to summer. I'll see you back here in two weeks, on Saturday, July 4th. (If I'm a day late that weekend, it's because it's an extra-long holiday weekend for me and I've literally forgotten which day of the week it is by then).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, just the finale of the show!

**[THEN]**

This was it. There was nothing more that he could do. All that was left was singing the showcase pieces and hearing the results. In an hour he’d know.

In an hour, he’d either have won or come in second.

Either way, it was far better than where he was before the show started.

Fuck. In an hour he’d be able to go home.

Jesus.

It had been easier to perform the night before.

Stiles leaned back against the wall, sank down to crouch with his head lowered by his knees. He breathed in slowly, let it out again. People rushed around him finishing up the last touches before the program started. One of the producers—fuck, he’d never managed to get her name—walked by with one hand in the air.

“Two minutes!” she called out. “Places and we start in two minutes!”

“Are you hiding?” Kelly crouched in front of him. Her makeup was stark and bright and her dress showed more cleavage than Stiles was comfortable with seeing. He pushed to his feet and she came with him, head tilted as she looked at him. She was tall enough that her four inch heels put her almost on eye level with him. “You know I’ve won.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “No,” he said. His phone buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket.

“You aren’t supposed to have that,” Kelly pointed out.

Right, Stiles knew that, and he’d kept it with him like a lifeline anyway. He ignored her as he checked the message. It was from Malia, a selfie of herself and Liam, with Derek and Rosie in the background. Because of course they were seated together; that made great sense from a media perspective. He was glad to know this ahead of time, and assumed that was why Malia had sent the text to give him some warning.

His phone buzzed again with an incoming call, and Stiles answered without checking to see who it was. “Yes?”

“Go out there and kill it, dude!” Scott’s voice was loud in his ear, and Stiles could hear his dad and Melissa shouting in the background.

“Killing it was yesterday. Today we find out if it’s dead,” Stiles deadpanned.

Kelly rolled her eyes. “He’s a loser,” she said quietly. “He totally lost.”

“Give me five seconds of privacy and stop acting like a child,” Stiles shot back.

Kelly held up her own phone and snapped a shot of him holding the phone to his ear. She tapped something on the screen, then grinned and tucked her phone somewhere deep in her cleavage. “Good luck, Stiles!” she called out. “It’s been so totally awesome to work with you!”

“She’s such a liar,” Stiles muttered. “And a hypocrite, since she just gave me shit about having my phone on me, and she has hers because she has to insta everything in her life the moment it happens. But it could’ve been worse. She could’ve gone home last round and I’d be stuck here with Theo instead.”

“He didn’t seem so bad,” Scott said.

“He’s that bad,” Stiles responded. “Trust the guy who’s spent time with all of them.”

“One minute!” the director called out. She gave Stiles a dark look on her way by and gestured at his phone.

“Shit. I’ve got to go, Scott.”

There was cheering somewhere in the background on Scott’s side, and Stiles heard it echoing from the stage as well. The show was getting started.

“We’re here for you, dude, and we’re cheering you on with our very own watch party. They’re doing something down at that bar on Fourth, but we wanted to have our private party,” Scott said. “We know you’re going to rock it.”

Nothing Stiles did tonight would affect the result. He performed last night. The audience and people across the country all voted last night. Tonight was just about drawing out the suspense for an hour until the final announcement was made.

He’d be lucky if he didn’t barf in the middle.

“You guys have fun. Got to go, dude. By the way, just watch me kill it on the original song,” Stiles said. He gave Scott just enough time to say goodbye before he cut the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“Now, Stiles.” The producer gestured, and Stiles joined her and Kelly in the wings at the top of the stairs.

As they emerged into the spotlight, Stiles offered his arm. She could refuse, but if she did, it would make her look bad. She didn’t have anything to lose in the voting, but she still had a reputation to maintain, and he grinned as Kelly took his arm. Her lips were pursed into a tight smile as they descended the stairs together.

Jennifer met them at the base of the stairs and directed them to stand in the center of the stage. All of the judges were on the stage with them. Deucalion’s mouth was thinned to a tight line, his jaw rigidly set.

That expression gave Stiles hope.

“Tonight we celebrate,” Jennifer said cheerfully. “Yesterday was about performing for the voting audience, but today is all about performing for your friends and family, and for yourself. It’s about celebrating the fact that you’ve made it here, to the finale, and that one of you is going to be our next amazing vocalist.”

“The voting is done, but we can enjoy fantastic performances from our finalists.” Ennis’s voice was a low rumble. Sometimes Stiles had forgotten he could speak, and how awkward he sounded when reading from the teleprompter. Ennis glanced at Stiles and Kelly, his eyebrows going up just a bit as Kelly carefully disengaged from Stiles.

“Why don’t you tell us about your first song, Kelly,” Deucalion said sharply, and Kelly took that opportunity to move into the spotlight.

That was fine with Stiles. He had his directions for this bit: fade back into the shadows and take a seat on one side of the stage while Kelly stomped around the stage warbling some Whitney Houston song that Stiles preferred in the original version.

It gave him time to sit quietly and think.

This was the end, but they were going back to the beginning at the same time. He had two songs to sing: the one that was written specifically for him, to be his debut single if he won, and the one that would look back at his audition. He’d picked a different song from Westlife this time, but it took him back to the start.

No matter what happened tonight, he’d be going forward. He was in the finals. If he won, he had a guaranteed record deal. In fact, they’d own him, even after the top ten tour. If he lost, well, he had the tour, then he could figure it out. He had a name, now. He could do something. It just might take some more work to nail down a good contract.

“…I want to thank my mom and my dad and my family for always supporting me!” Kelly waved as she called the words out loudly, and the spot swung into the audience where her family sat. Stiles had thought she was the youngest, but there were two much younger children sitting on laps, along with a line of people who all looked like her but older. One mom, one dad, and what looked like seven older siblings and two younger.

It explained why she was so cutthroat about carving out attention for herself. It was probably hard getting lost in a large family like that.

“…tonight?”

Stiles caught the tail end of Kali’s question. He could hear the bright, plastic smile in Kelly’s voice as she responded. “No matter what happens tonight, just remember, I love you all!” She blew kisses into the audience. “I can’t wait to see you on tour! I’ll wait by the door every night and sign every program! I want every girl out there to know, you can grow up to achieve your dreams!”

Music played as Kelly waved one more time and headed toward where Stiles sat. He pushed himself to standing and opened his arms, giving her a stage appropriate hug that made it look like they got along.

He made his way to the center of the stage, taking the microphone when they handed it to him.

“So tell me,” Deucalion said slowly. “What do you plan to sing tonight? Or do you plan to regale us with the perfect drum solo?”

Stiles’s smile felt tight on his face. “No drums, tonight.” He kept his tone cheerful. “I’m going back to where we got started. At first I was thinking that I could sing you all a lullaby, like I accidentally sang during my audition.” He paused to let the rumble of laughter from the audience fade. “And then I thought about doing the same Westlife song, but when I thought about, I remembered that they had a cover I like better for tonight. So it goes back to the audition by being sung by Westlife, but since it’s a cover that’s been done by a lot of people, I think just about everyone in this audience will be familiar with the song.”

He looks out into the darkness, knowing that Derek was out there somewhere, with Rosie likely in his lap instead of the seat next to him. “This is for my husband, and for my daughter. I wouldn’t be who I am without you. I mean, Dad, I know you’re watching this, and I love you, and you raised me right, sure, but f—” He cut himself off before the sensors needed to bleep him. “Derek,” he said softly, the whisper carrying with the microphone.

The spot lit the audience as if on cue, and there Derek was, sitting in the audience with Rosie on his lap just like Stiles had imagined. She blinked into the light, then waved brightly at the stage, and Stiles lifted his hand. “Hey, baby girl,” he said softly. “This is for both of you. You raise me up.”

He dimly registered that Malia and Liam were there, right where Malia’s picture had shown them in the row just in front of Derek. They were lit just as brightly by the spot, but he didn’t care. This was about Derek.

This was the simplest arrangement of any song he’d ever done while competing. As the piano began with simple chords in the background, Stiles closed his eyes, holding the mic in front of his mouth. “_When I am down, and oh my soul, so weary,_” he sang, letting his voice carry the words, strong and true. “_When troubles come, and my heart burdened be. Then I am still, and wait here in the silence. Until you come, and sit awhile with me_.”

He opened his eyes as the strings swelled into the music, still low and gentle, lighter than his voice. He looked past the judges, out into the audience where he knew Derek sat, and he held his hand out, reaching for his husband. “_You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains. You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas. I am strong when I am on your shoulders. You raise me up, to more than I can be_.”

His eyes watered and his voice shook as he continued on. He pulled his hand back in, clutching the closed fist to his heart, holding Derek close as he sang to him. It felt as if the words flowed through him, the finals phrases almost whispered, carried by the strength of the microphone, his voice rasping slightly.

He finished and coughed, rubbing at his eyes while the audience applauded. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Look at that, you made me cry.”

A soft ripple of laughter responded to him.

“You made me cry, too,” Jennifer said.

Stiles finally looked over at the judges. Ennis handed a tissue to Kali, who glared at Stiles as if he might say something about her tears. Jennifer unabashedly blew her nose.

Deucalion’s lips were pursed. “You should have performed like that all along,” he said curtly.

“If I had, you would have said I needed variety and should branch out from ballads,” Stiles quipped in return. The rumble of laughter was louder now.

Stiles knew he should watch his tongue, but the voting was over. He could risk being a little more honest.

Deucalion inclined his head. “Possibly. But now it is time for a break. When we return, we will see Stiles and Kelly perform their brand new original pieces, before we learn which one of them will take home the title.”

Kelly approached from where she was waiting in the wings, and they lifted their hands together, waving one more time at the audience before the stage went dark.

As soon as he was free to leave, Stiles went into the wings for his quick costume change. His body was still shaking from the adrenalin of the performance and all he could think was that he needed to finish this show so he could see Derek and Rosie for real. Nothing mattered as much as that.

#

The remainder of the show passed quickly. His new song went over well, even if Stiles thought it was lackluster pop. At least it showed something of his personality through, and he was able to get the audience clapping with him. He had ideas for how to add in more rhythm when he performed it on tour. That was, if he had to perform it on tour.

It was very possible that after the next few minutes he’d never perform it again.

Deucalion stood before them with an envelope in his hand, his smile thin and tight. “Stiles. Kelly. I have in my hands the news you have been waiting for. In moments we will know who our next star vocalist will be.”

Kelly’s shoulders shook, her breath swift and rough. Stiles knew that sound well, and he might not have liked her, but he still held out one hand, palm up. She hesitated, then carefully placed her hand over his, finger gripping him tightly.

Stiles shook, too. It didn’t matter. He told himself that he’d come far enough so it didn’t matter, but in that moment, it did. He wanted it. He wanted to win.

Stiles exhaled, closing his eyes. Kelly’s hand was moist against his, or maybe that was the sweat of his own palm. The audience was a roar of murmured sound rising louder and louder as Deucalion ripped through the paper.

The audience went silent as Deucalion made a low sound. “The next star vocalist will be—” He let the moment draw out, and Kelly squeezed so hard that Stiles thought his fingers might break. He needed those fingers. How else was he supposed to hold a drumstick?

“Stiles Stilinski.”

Kelly yanked her hand free. Clapping sounded on stage, sharp taps closer to him than the audience. Malia’s whistle cut through everything else, and the shrill sound of Rosie’s voice.

Wait.

Stiles snapped his eyes open to see the microphone held right in front of his face. He touched a finger to his chest as music swelled in the background. The opening bars to his new song. Wait. “Me?”

Kelly’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Congratulations, Stiles.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Deucalion said dryly. “You’ve won. I’m certain everyone will be delighted to hear what your next plans are.”

There were stock answers for this. “I guess I need to record a debut album, after we get back from the top ten tour.” Stiles raised a hand, waving when the audience shouted. “Wow, I just—I think I’m in shock here. I’m thrilled.”

“Told you he’d win!” Malia shouted from the audience. The spotlight swung to show Liam trying to get a hand over her mouth, while Rosie leaned over the back of her seat, half off of Derek’s lap and reaching for Stiles.

Stiles didn’t even try to stop the laugh from bursting out. “First things first, though. I think I want to take my baby girl to Disneyland, because I can. How about that, Rosie? Want to go to Disney?”

Rosie shoved her thumb in her mouth and sank back to lean against Derek’s shoulder before waving at him.

“I want to go home for a little while,” Stiles admitted. “I want to spend some time with my family, and while I’m incredibly honored to be chosen, and excited for my new career, I have to admit that I can’t wait to spend some quiet time out of the limelight before it all gets started.

“Of course, we can facilitate that,” Deucalion said, and for a moment his expression was almost kind. He gestured, and the music rose around them. “But in the meantime, if you would grace us with one last rendition of your new single, which will be available for streaming and purchase worldwide on Friday…?”

Right. Victory performance. Stiles stepped into the center of the stage, trying not to pay attention to how they pulled Kelly into the wings. They left the stage to him and him alone, and this time the words came more naturally than they had before.

As he sang about standing on top of the world, he felt how true it was. He was on top of the world, and his family would never want for anything ever again. He’d done what he set out to do.

He’d won.

#

Stiles sat in the dressing room at the back. His face was scrubbed clean, his costumes hung neatly on the rack. He was back in his own Chucks, his own t-shirt and jeans, and it was over and done.

He could finally breathe.

He looked up at the knock on the door, hands twisting into fists at the intrusion. It was probably just a summons back to the car, to go back to the house for one last night before he cleaned his things out to go home. It probably wasn’t anything important. “Yes?” He called out.

Becky poked her head in, her camera held loose in her other hand, pointing down at the floor. “It’s just me and Braeden and some extra special guests.”

Stiles was on his feet before the door fully opened. He crouched down, ignoring everyone else as he held his arms wide open and Rosie ran into him. Running. She was running now, not just toddling, and oh God, he’d already missed so much. He scooped her up, pressing his face to her cheek. “Oh, Rosie, my baby girl.”

Her words were indistinct as she held on tight, face buried against his chest even while she kept talking. He didn’t need to hear to feel better just from having her there. He could breathe in her scent, hold his daughter in his arms. This was what he’d been missing.

At a touch to his cheek, he leaned into the waiting hand. No. This was what he’d been missing. “Derek,” he murmured as his husband gathered him in.

“They are just so fucking cute, aren’t they?” Malia’s question was answered with a thud, and Stiles swallowed the laugh as he imagined Liam thwacking her in the chest.

He didn’t care about the scuffle going on in the background. He didn’t care that Becky was probably filming, and that Braeden probably had a mic ready and waiting. All Stiles cared about was Derek.

Derek framed his face, leaning in close as he whispered, “Stiles.” Then they were kissing, and Rosie was squished between them, laughing and complaining all at once. Stiles managed to shift her so she could get her arms around their shoulders, leaning in to press wet kisses to their cheeks.

Stiles luxuriated in the feel of his husband’s touch on his skin, his mouth to his mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ, I missed you,” he murmured.

“Can I quote you on that?” Derek laughed softly, thumb stroking along Stiles’s cheekbones. “I’ve been told we can ride in a car with you back to the house. Kelly’s already left with her family. And Theo. Isn’t he kind of old for her?”

“Liam’s just a baby and I’m keeping him,” Stiles countered. “Although I’m not sleeping with him. Or Malia, in case you’ve been reading the news.”

Derek pulled back, rolling his eyes. “I know you better than that.”

“I really hope Kelly’s not sleeping with Theo because that would be really gross,” Malia commented. She was sprawled on the sofa on the side of the dressing room, Liam stretched out along it with his head in her lap. She idly played with his hair. “Can you imagine what it’s going to be like being out on tour with them both?” She craned her neck, looking at where Becky lingered by the door, the camera on her shoulder. “Are you going on tour with us?”

“We both are,” Braeden answered. “Small crew, and we won’t be shooting a ton behind the scenes. Mostly providing our own media for publicity, and if anything’s needed for a documentary after Stiles launches his solo career.”

Another knock on the door. Stiles’s gaze narrowed because this couldn’t be good news; everyone he wanted here was already in the room. “Yes?”

Becky jumped out of the way as the door swung open, her camera coming to bear as Deucalion walked in, a producer behind him. Deucalion gestured, and the producer set a clipboard and a stack of paperwork on the coffee table.

“Your contract,” he said.

“I’ll get a lawyer for you here tomorrow,” Derek said. “You’ll want him to review it before you—”

“There’s no need,” Deucalion interrupted smoothly. “If you’ll remember, you signed the first part of this paperwork at the start of the competition. This is only what happens if you win, as you have. In exchange for our promotion over the last several weeks, you have won a recording contract, and our support to launch your solo career. The contract is non-negotiable.”

Stiles forestalled Derek’s objection by handing Rosie to him, freeing up Stiles’s hands so he could pick up the paperwork.

There was a lot of paperwork, and a lot of jargon. “You don’t really expect me to sign this tonight, do you?” he asked. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Of course not. I thought you might want to review it before we meet at breakfast,” Deucalion explained. “You’ll sign it then. It’s the standard contract. Three albums, three associated tours, and of course, the top ten tour. You will work exclusively with us for the duration of those albums.”

Stiles smiled thinly; he remembered this. “I’ll need to set up the financial information. I have an account for household funds, and another separate account for Rosie. My pay will be deposited directly to those.”

“Of course.” Deucalion gestured, and the producer opened the door. “In the morning,” he said, as he withdrew.

“Please tell me he doesn’t go on tour with us,” Liam muttered.

“He wouldn’t be caught dead on tour,” Becky reassured him. “None of them would. Besides. They’ll have to start getting ready for the next round of auditions soon, anyway.”

“Deucalion hates me. He’s already looking for my replacement.” Stiles knew the truth of it. Deucalion had wanted Kelly to win, with her young looks and her bright, naive eyes. She wasn’t actually naive, no matter what show she put on for the judges, but she was probably still malleable.

Stiles was definitely not malleable.

Liam patted Malia’s knee, and Stiles took the hint. He tugged Derek with him, and together they nudged Malia into the middle of the couch so they could squeeze in on her other side, with Rosie curled on Stiles’s chest.

“Think we could do ‘Renegade’ on tour?” Liam mused. “I think out of everything, that’s one of my favorite memories. We were awesome.”

“They played the whole thing on the show. Bet you could get them to buy into it,” Braeden said. She pushed the paperwork aside on the coffee table, then perched on the edge of it, facing Stiles. Becky hovered behind her, the red light on her camera blinking.

Stiles blinked back. It was late, and he was warm, and his daughter had already slipped into the dreamlands.

“So,” Braeden said. “Stiles. You’ve won. You’ve promised to take your little girl to Disney.”

Stiles smiled down at Rosie. “Mm. Probably take Derek along, too.”

Derek nudged him, and Stiles nudged him back as they laughed. When Derek dropped an arm around his shoulder, Stiles tilted into him, comfortable and warm.

“Do you have anything else planned?” Braeden asked.

Stiles looked at Malia and Liam, then at Derek. He smiled slowly. “I want to spend time with my family. I want to enjoy the tour. I want to make great music. I’m really looking forward to performing, and I’m looking forward to being able to take care of, and spoil, my husband and daughter. My needs are pretty simple.”

His needs were very simple, and at that moment, everything he needed was right there. It didn’t get any better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. Stiles's career is launching! Next chapter returns to the present storyline and will be posted on Saturday, July 18th, 2020!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for my silence on comments; they are wonderful, and THANK YOU. I've just had a rough few weeks and got behind on things (like a lot).
> 
> There's a little bit of angst this chapter, but no warnings that I can think of. Woohoo!

**[NOW]**

“Hey.” Scott crouches in the doorway as Dex jumps up, balancing his paws on Scott’s shoulders and licking his face enthusiastically. Scott scratches him behind the ears, while Nurse meows loudly near Scott’s knee.

Scott drops one hand down to pat Nurse’s head, turning his face and getting Dex’s tongue in his ear as he does. “Ew.”

“You’re a vet; you’ve probably had worse,” Stiles says dryly. He crouches down to pick up Nurse, who immediately goes lax in his arms, purring as she turns into a heavy lump, her head tilted back to still watch where Dex is trying to climb Scott.

“Much,” Scott agrees. “But I thought we decided we were never exchanging stories about disgusting things back when I was starting out and Rosie was a baby.”

It’s a casual sentence, but it still digs in deeper than Scott probably means it to. Stiles hides the wince, instead motioning at the still open door behind Scott.

Kira wiggles into the small space behind him before Scott can stand up. “I’ve got it,” she says cheerfully, pushing the door closed then holding out one hand like she’s going to pull Scott to his feet. “Hi, Scott. It’s nice to see you again.”

Kira lives with famous people and not one of them can fluster her the way Scott does when he takes her hand and carefully pushes himself up so he doesn’t pull her off-balance. “Hi, Kira,” he says. He tugs a little, and she lets his hand go with an apologetic look.

“I’ll just—go—popcorn. And the others,” she says, waving her hands at the hall to the kitchen first, then the stairs. “Movie! Go—”

Scott watches her go, a bemused smile on his face. “She’s kind of cute, in a really awkward way,” he says quietly.

“She also has the biggest crush on you, which makes this even funnier, because she’s walked in on Mason and Corey getting it on and didn’t even blush.” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair. “It’s actually pretty amazing how great our staff is. I don’t know what we’d do without them. They aren’t fazed by anything here. Malia forgot her towel and ran into Lori in the hall, and Lori just stripped off her shirt and handed it over.”

Scott’s mouth opens slightly, and he blinks, his eyes stuck on something in the distance.

Right. Talking about Malia is never a good move around Scott.

“Anyway.” Stiles nudges Scott’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he isn’t still trying to regain their easy friendship. “Kira has a crush on you. If you’re not interested, you should try to let her down nicely. She’s already Insta-stalked you enough to know you’re single, and that Melissa wouldn’t mind more grandchildren.”

Scott snaps his mouth closed. “Oh. Um. I mean. I’m flattered and all, and she’s really cute, like I said, but—”

“Oh, I get it, you don’t want to date anyone involved in our life.”

“That’s not what I said,” Scott protests, his eyes wide and puppy-innocent.

Stiles doesn’t try to push it. He can’t blame Scott for it, and he doesn’t want to hurt Kira, either. “Just don’t lead her on, okay?”

Scott brings both hands up. “I won’t. I don’t want to date anyone right now, and I told Mom she’s not getting any grandchildren from me for a while. I mean, someday I’ll probably meet the one, but it’s not really a thing I’m thinking about. Mom gets all her granddaughter time with Rosie, anyway.”

Dangerous topic, and not one Stiles wants to explore. “Well, then, let’s head up to the movie room.” He puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder, nudging him to the stairs and following him up.

“It’s kind of funny that you all are single,” Scott says as he pushes open the door to the movie room. This is the third time he’s been over, and he’s getting more comfortable, and the band has been slowly getting less awkward around him. He pauses in the doorway. “Okay. Right. Not all single.”

“Mason and Corey have been together for a very very long time,” Stiles says. “Long enough to be our old married couple, even if they haven’t officially tied the knot.”

“You could,” Liam points out. He has his feet up on the back of their chairs, and he nudges the back of Mason’s head. “I could be your best man.”

“That’d be intense, but Corey hasn’t asked,” Mason points out.

“I’m waiting for the right moment.” Corey leans back, waving. “Hey, Scott. When are you bringing us another dog?”

Scott hesitates as he’s about to sit. “You want another dog?”

“We do not want another dog,” Stiles says firmly. “Dex is more than enough dog, and he came with Nurse so we have a cat who thinks she’s a dog. We have plenty of dog.”

“We’re getting another dog?” Kira asks loudly. She’s pushing a cart into the room, with three pitchers of soda, a stack of plastic cups, and several buckets for popcorn. “Lori!”

“No more dogs!” Stiles shouts, just in case they’re ignoring him.

Liam snickers.

Scott looks vaguely confused. He sinks slowly into the chair he’s chosen, smiling a little as Kira offers him a cup of soda and takes the seat next to him.

They all filter in, and popcorn buckets are distributed. Mason and Corey have the front row along with Scott and Kira. Somehow Scott ends up holding one bucket of popcorn for the four of them, but that’s probably for the best, since Mason and Corey have a history of getting distracted. Lori pushes Hayden into the middle of the row where Liam’s already claimed one end. She sets a popcorn bucket on Hayden’s lap. Hayden gives Liam a dark look, and for a moment Stiles wonders if Liam’s going to get slapped when he reaches for popcorn. But Liam hesitates, expression questioning, and waits until Hayden nods agreement before he grabs a handful.

Brett sinks into the seat behind Liam, his arms crossed as he glowers. It’s a disturbingly attractive expression, despite how dour he looks.

Malia arrives just as they start to roll the movie, after Stiles settles into the row next to Brett. She makes her way all the way to the front and crouches in front of Scott, who blinks down at her.

Malia leans forward, rising enough so she can put her hands on Scott’s shoulders to balance herself. “Truce,” she says.

Scott looks up at her, silent.

Malia frowns. “I’m offering a truce. Take it.”

“Truce,” Scott agrees. His gaze follows her as she comes to her feet, then pats Kira on the head as she carefully exits the first row. Scott twists in his seat to watch as Malia takes the seat next to Stiles in the back.

Malia wiggles her fingers and blows him a kiss. “Truce,” she reminds him. “And no, I am not about to start making out with Stiles. We don’t do that. Never have.”

Kira leans closer to Scott, and as she whispers something, Scott tilts his head to hear her. His shoulders relax, and Stiles is thankful for that.

Honestly, if Scott were actually interested in Kira, Stiles wouldn’t mind. But he can read Scott, and that’s polite and sweet, but not actually interested. And Stiles doesn’t want to see Kira hurt. He’s picked up the pieces after Scott more than once, and it’s never fun.

Instead, he lifts his arm and waits for Malia to tilt in, snuggling close. “I am an equal opportunity no strings snuggler,” he murmurs, and Brett glances over at him.

Brett shakes his head, but he does relax, sinking down into the chair. His gaze remains on Liam and Hayden, and the way they are speaking quietly.

It looks like Hayden’s gotten past Liam’s outburst and they’re getting along now.

It also looks like Brett isn’t happy about it, and that’s something Stiles has to address. But not right now. The music is playing, the opening credits are rolling, and the movie’s already begun. This is relaxing time, and Stiles just wants to enjoy it.

#

“I’ve been to Albany and that was Albany, not Detroit,” Mason argues loudly. Corey has his phone in his hand, typing rapidly.

“They said it was shot on location,” Malia argues. “On location means it should be Detroit.”

Corey turns his phone around, showing the screen. “On location was Albany, New York for most of the exterior shots, and the interiors were all on set in LA. They did some exteriors in Detroit, but the car chases and explosions were all filmed in Albany. Apparently they really like having movies made there or something, and give good tax breaks.”

“I bet they have better roads than Detroit,” Kira pipes up. “I went to Detroit once. The roads were awful. So many potholes.”

“That’d make it hard to film a car chase,” Lori agrees, and Kira nods in enthusiastic agreement.

Malia climbs over the back of the empty chair next to Lori, sprawling in it, leaning into Lori as she looks more closely at Corey’s phone. “I really thought it was filmed in Detroit.”

Stiles is finally free of the weight on his shoulder, and he stands and stretches, rotating the arm to try to regain some blood flow. “I’m going to go call for pizza. Any changes to the standard order?” They’ve gotten into a routine by now, and eat far too much pizza for a household full of adults.

“I can cook—” Hayden cuts off when Stiles gestures for her to sit. She sinks back into her chair.

“Pizza,” he says. “Or Chinese, or Indian, but I’m kind of in the mood for pineapple and wings. And those garlic knots.”

“Here.” Scott pulls out his wallet and shoves a twenty at him. “I’m in.”

Malia starts laughing, and Kira’s eyes are wide. “They’re kind of millionaires,” she whispers loudly.

“Keep your money, Scott, my treat tonight.” Stiles tries to wave him off but Scott insistently pushes the bill into Stiles’s hand. “Brett, c’mon. Help me out here.”

Brett hesitates, but Stiles knocks into him and he jumps up, using the space between Liam and Hayden to leverage himself to standing. “Sure,” he agrees.

“I really should—”

“Take the night off,” Stiles interrupts Hayden before she can finish objecting. “Enjoy the social thing. We’ll bring back pizza and beer and soda. Plenty for all.”

“Are we going to order in or go get it?” Brett asks as they head into the kitchen, where the menu from their preferred place hangs on the fridge.

Going to get it means leaving the property, and Stiles isn’t sure he wants to do that. On the other hand, he could wait in the car while Brett runs in. Unless there’s too much to carry. He looks at the menu in his hands. Ten adults means at least six pizzas, seven if they want to have anything after, plus several dozen wings. Salad. They should do a beer run; Stiles isn’t sure what’s left in the fridge.

If they go out, they can get the good beer at least.

“Go get it,” Stiles says, like it wasn’t a major decision on his part. “We’ll stop off and get beer and replenish the soda and seltzer supply on the way.”

He calls in the order for two pepperoni, a white broccoli, a Hawaiian, and a chicken parm pizza, along with a dozen each of hot, mild, sweet and sour, and garlic parm wings, and two dozen free garlic knots. Stiles still has Scott’s twenty in his hand, so he shoves that into his pocket, figuring it makes a good tip for the workers. It’s not like he can actually convince Scott to take it back.

Stiles and Brett head to the garage, and Stiles grabs the keys for the Jeep. She’s waiting near the front, gassed up and ready to go. The doors no longer creak when they open thanks to Brett’s care, but they still thunk loudly when they slam shut. Nothing’s going to change the fact that the Jeep is heavier made and full of old technology compared to modern cars.

Stiles starts the car, then sets his phone in the cup holder and plugs it in. “Thanks for changing out the stereo.” The new one looks incongruous, but Stiles would rather put on a playlist from his phone than risk hearing his own voice come up on the radio.

“I don’t mind working on your cars.” Brett leans the passenger seat back as Stiles pulls out. “Have you thought about getting any more classics?”

“I didn’t exactly go out for this Jeep on purpose.” Which doesn’t change the fact that Stiles really likes the older cars, and he can tell Brett’s thirsting to work on more of them. “I used to want a 1980s Pontiac Trans Am. My mom loved to watch the old Knight Rider shows and when I was really little, I thought that cars were supposed to talk. I was always disappointed that the Jeep didn’t. I used to think about getting a Yenko Camaro—it’s a really rare model from the late 60s, but now—” He thinks about seeing Derek in the new Camaro with Rosie. “I don’t think I want a Camaro. A 1965 Mustang ragtop, though. I’d love one of those.”

Brett fiddles with the seatbelt. “If I found one for you to fix up, would you be interested in buying it?”

“You mean for you to fix up?” Stiles laughs a little at Brett’s expression. “I might. Can I add a condition?”

Brett’s smile slowly dies. “What kind of condition?”

“Get Liam to help you.” Stiles’s fingers go tight on the steering wheel. “Look, I know you have bad blood between you. But that’s in the past. You two need to deal with each other now, and I can see you getting protective about Hayden. Liam’s a good guy. He’s not going to hurt her and if you spend some time with him—”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s not that you’re worried about him getting angry and hitting her again?” Stiles turns onto the main street, already looking for the tiny side street that leads to the liquor store.

“I can see that he’s different. Even if we don’t like each other. But he shouldn’t lead her on. He’s going to leave.” Brett’s expression and voice are both tight, his fingers gripping the seat belt. “But sure. Fine. If that’s your condition, he can work on the car with me, if he wants to. I’ll find one, you buy it.”

There’s the turn. Stiles navigates the tight curve, down the alley until it opens into the parking lot behind the store. He parks and glances over at Brett. “We aren’t going anywhere right away,” he says slowly. “We have an album to record, and no plans for a tour yet. Besides. I bought a house so we’d always have somewhere to come back to. They all needed to put down some roots.” He undoes his seat belt, and pauses, hand on the door before he opens it. “I’ll give you a list. Find the best car you can from the list, and show me the details. I’ll buy it and have it delivered if I approve. You’ll need to give me a budget for the refurb, and I’ll set up an account. Okay?”

“Sure.” Brett’s expression stays tight, but he smiles just enough to set Stiles at ease.

It’ll be a good project, and might take some of the tension out of the household if those two can start getting along.

For now, though, beer first, pizza second. The rest can come later.

#

There’s another movie already going by the time Brett and Stiles get back with the food. No one really cares about noise as they eat, talking over it, passing around the pizza and wings, and everyone tossing bones into a bowl in the middle. It’s loud and chaotic, and Scott fits in as if he’s supposed to be there.

As long as he and Malia aren’t fighting, this might work.

They end up on the floor in front of the seating, everyone needing to look up to see the screen. Hayden sits with Liam, smiling slightly when he tears apart a garlic knot and hands her half. Kira is talking to Malia across Scott, and Scott idly reaches up to block a hand as Kira gestures and almost hits his face. She flushes brightly before he releases her fingers, and Malia wiggles her eyebrows and nudges Scott.

Scott flushes. “Kira.”

The room falls silent around them, and Scott gulps at the attention.

“It’s okay.” She pats his hand, and Stiles realizes that some time in the last few hours she’s gotten comfortable with him. “I can totally tell you’re not into me. Don’t worry, I won’t crush on you too hard. I mean. This is much nicer now that I know you’re not going to like me! See, I can speak in whole sentences and everything, and I haven’t tripped over my own feet.”

“She’s a klutz,” Malia says, as Lori comments, “Love makes her fall too hard.” They look at each other and snicker, until Kira bounces a garlic knot off of Malia’s nose, and another off of Lori’s forehead.

“Besides,” Kira says. “You totally have a thing for—”

“Oh, shit.” Scott stands up too quickly, and his beer tips over, spreading across the floor. “Shit. I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry about everything, but right now I mean I’m sorry about the beer.”

“I’ll get towels.” Lori rushes out, and everyone does their best to clear the floor in the meantime.

As Scott helps carry pizza boxes to a side table, Stiles resists asking him why he did that on purpose. If it had been Kira knocking it over, he might have believed that. But for all that Scott sometimes resembles a giant puppy, that’s not the kind of thing that happens. Instead he stands shoulder to shoulder with him as they rearrange the remainder of the pizza into two boxes out of the six.

“Are you going over to see Mom and your Dad on Thursday?” Scott asks.

Stiles closes the pizza box, stacking it on top of the one Scott holds. “No, why?”

“It’s their anniversary?”

Stiles’s hands drop. “Oh. I forgot, and Dad didn’t—”

“Derek’ll be there, with Rosie. And I think some friends from work, but it’s mostly just family,” Scott says, as if nothing’s wrong. “I figured he’d told you and you’d come by, since you’re actually in town for once.”

“For once,” Stiles echoes dryly.

Scott pats his shoulder. “You should stop over. I know Mom’d be happy for it, and I’m sure your dad would, too.” He walks out of the room, carrying the pizza boxes and shouting about taking them down to the kitchen.

“You okay?” Liam is right there at Stiles’s elbow, close enough to catch him, almost as if he’s waiting for Stiles to break down.

Stiles blinks and shakes off the unexpected weight of the conversation. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just need to go make a phone call.”

He thinks about going outside, but instead walks up to his room, closing the door behind himself. In the distance, he hears the thud of the bass as the movie starts up again, just as he sinks down to sit on the floor, his back against the bed.

The phone barely rings twice before he hears his dad’s voice. “Stiles? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” Stiles exhales roughly, one hand on his forehead. “I’m fine, Dad. I just—Scott was here, and he mentioned that you’re doing a thing on Thursday for your anniversary, and he thought I should come, and well, you hadn’t said anything—” He stops, because there’s silence on the other end of the line, and he’d somehow expected an interruption. “Dad?”

“We’re starting around 6 for a barbecue,” Dad says, “and of course you’re welcome to come.”

“You didn’t invite me.” Stiles’s voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “If Scott hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have known. I figured you didn’t want me—”

“Stiles, no.” This time Dad cuts him off, his voice firm. “You’re wanted. You are a part of this family, and yes, we would love to have you here. It’d mean the world to have my son with me, and I know Melissa would love it, too, to have both her boys. I was just afraid that if you came you might—”

Stiles remembers how poorly his last visit went. “You were afraid I’d explode, get angry, and walk out in a fugue state again?”

“Derek and Rosie will be here,” Dad says softly. “He’s still a son to me, and she’s my granddaughter.”

For a moment that feels like a kick in the gut, that he’d rather have Derek there than Stiles. Then he remembers that that’s not why he called. He called because he wants to see his dad, whether Derek’s there or not. Scott already warned him.

“That’s okay,” Stiles says. “I’ll be fine. If it’s okay with you if I come, I’ll be fine.” It’s a lie. It’s a bald-faced outright lie, but at the same time, he wants to see Rosie so badly that he’d do anything for it. Just to watch her from across the room. He’s afraid to talk to her; he doesn’t want to hurt her all over again.

Silence for a long set of breaths, and for a moment, Stiles thinks his dad will say no. That he’ll say that Derek and Rosie get first dibs because they’ve been here all along, and Stiles was the one who left. He lost family rights because he left.

“Bring the band,” Dad says quietly. Carefully. “It’ll make you feel better, right?”

“I’ll feel better, but will you?” Stiles counters. “I mean, Malia and Scott have a truce now, and Malia’s actually a lot better when she has—actually. Um.” He hesitates, because he’s been given the opening, but this is really too big of an ask. “How big is this party of yours?”

There’s a muffled yell that Stiles can’t quite make out, then Dad is back. “Melissa says we’ve got maybe thirty or forty people coming. You five won’t make a dent in the food—pretty sure she’s catered in enough for a hundred.”

“Would it be okay if we brought our staff?” Stiles rushes in, not waiting for an answer as he tries to explain. “They’re—they’ve become our friends, here. And Malia really gets along well with Lori and Kira, and I think they balance her out. And Liam’s sort of maybe got a thing for Hayden, so it’d keep him from being all worried about me.”

Dad huffs, and Stiles thinks it might be a laugh. “Are you trying to keep them from paying close attention to you?”

“No?” Maybe. Stiles thinks Dad could be right, but he also knows there’s another reason. “They’re turning into our family here, Dad,” he says quietly. “Which is good. Because you know that Liam and Malia haven’t really had anchors at all since the show. I like seeing them putting down some roots in something other than the band.”

His voice echoes on the last words, and he knows he’s been put on speaker. “Hi, Melissa,” he calls out.

“Hello, Stiles.” Her voice is distant, probably in the next room over. “You want to bring some extra people by on Thursday?”

“Four more, aside from me and the band,” Stiles confirms. “They’re like family to us now.”

“Then they’ll be family for us as well,” Melissa says. “I’m sure they’ll fit in fine. We’ll be glad to see you Thursday night, Stiles.”

The echoing sound goes away as Dad speaks and it’s just the two of them again. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Stiles confirms. “I promise. No drama. It might be awkward, but there won’t be any fights, walkouts, or panic attacks.”

“Don’t promise something you can’t be sure of,” Dad says. “But thank you for the intent. It’ll be good to have my boys all in one place on Thursday.”

Stiles lets the call end, and sets the phone down on the floor. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes, and breathes, slow and steady, counting as the air slips in and out. He can do this. It’ll all be fine.

His phone buzzes, and he picks it up to see a text from his dad.

_You are wanted_, it says. _Melissa and I want you here. I love you, son._

Stiles exhales and taps out a return message: _I love you, too, Dad._

Then he sets the phone down again and goes back to breathing. Anything to make the world slow down, and let himself believe that it really will all be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted on Saturday, August 1st, 2020. Wow. Where is the summer going??


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we go back into the past with this one!

**[THEN]**

Summer vacation didn’t feel like much of a vacation at all.

The show was over and Stiles was home, but he had to leave again in just a couple of months for the tour kicking off in September. Before the tour started he had to record his first studio album, so that it could drop while they were on the road. He had to travel back and forth between Beacon Hills and Los Angeles constantly for rehearsals, studio time, and making sure the first single was produced and ready to go. It was a hell of a commute.

At least this time Stiles had Derek to come home to, even if sometimes Stiles fell into bed and was asleep within moments.

He managed to plan a weekend off for Rosie’s second birthday, which was going to be a big celebration. She was just barely old enough to have friends at daycare, but still young enough that most of the people at the party would be Stiles’s and Derek’s friends and their family. Lots of screaming and excitement, but plenty of adult conversation as well.

“What do you need me to do?” Stiles was still in his pajama bottoms, while Derek was already freshly showered after a morning run. Rosie was curled up on the couch in the living room with a bowl of dried cereal and freeze-dried fruit, nibbling at breakfast while enjoying the treat of a Saturday morning movie.

Derek turned as the oven beeped to say it was up to temperature. “I’ve got it,” he said. “People are going to be here in about two hours. If I get the cupcakes in now, they’ll be cool in time to frost. We’re doing a backyard barbecue, so most of the food’s already made up, and your folks are bringing something like three different kinds of salad. Your dad wanted to buy Rosie a fancy cake, but she said she wanted Papa’s cupcakes, so here we are.” He brandished the two large trays of cupcake batter in brightly colored papers before he slid them into the oven.

Stiles scratched at his belly and reached for his mug as soon as the coffee maker beeped. He poured a mug full and drank a long gulp of it, feeling the burn on the way down. “Shit. I shouldn’t do that to my throat.”

“You shouldn’t do that to your throat.” Derek closed the oven door and turned to him, pulling him close. He nuzzled against the side of Stiles’s throat, kissing him just behind the ear, trailing kisses as Stiles tilted his head back. Derek licked into the hollow of Stiles’s throat, and Stiles groaned, clinging to his shoulders.

“All better?” Derek murmured.

“Throat is. Other things are having a hard time.”

Derek smirked, quirking one eyebrow at him. “Such a pity I’ve got cupcakes that can’t burn or a certain daughter of ours would be incredibly disappointed.”

Stiles groaned again, his head falling forward against Derek’s shoulder. He took advantage of the closeness, sliding his hands down to squeeze Derek’s backside. “Just, hold that thought. I’m home all day and maybe tonight you and I can have a different kind of celebration.”

Derek’s breath caught. He pulled Stiles tight against him. “Fuck, it’s been a long time,” he muttered.

Stiles couldn’t argue. It had been a long time. Too long. Much too long. And if it weren’t for cupcakes, and Rosie being wide awake and on the couch, and guests arriving in just a couple hours—

The doorbell rang.

Stiles stopped nibbling on Derek’s shoulder and pulled back. Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed; he looked just as confused as Stiles.

The doorbell rang again.

“Door, Daddy!” Rosie sang out.

“We heard, baby girl.” Stiles backed away, pulling at his pajama pants to loosen them, while Derek did a funny little half step. They made it to the door at the same time, Derek yanking it open to leave Stiles standing in the doorway.

Liam flushed. “We overestimated how long it would take to get here from LA.”

Malia pushed past him to get her arms around Stiles, kissing his cheek soundly. “But the view is nice.” She let him go and gave Derek the same hug. “Derek. Are you enjoying the time with your husband? He made the traffic between here and there sound a lot worse than it is.”

“I’m usually traveling on a weekday. When everyone else is trying to get from here to there and back again at the same time.” Stiles crossed his arms over his bare chest, resisting the urge to leave immediately for a shirt. “You should check websites. It’ll be more accurate.”

Rosie crept out from the living room slowly, one hand trailing along the wall and leaving sticky prints in her wake. Her other thumb was planted in her mouth. “Hi,” she said shyly.

Malia kept her arm around Derek as she leaned out to look at Rosie. She wiggled her fingers. “Hey. Remember us? I’m Malia, and this is Liam.”

Rosie kept talking, the words garbled by the thumb in her mouth. Derek’s eyebrows went up as Stiles caught himself before he snickered, switching quickly to gently chiding, “Rosie.”

“Why?” Malia and Rosie chorused. Liam just looked confused, and Stiles had a strong feeling that neither of them spoke toddler particularly well. He was thankful he hadn’t lost the ability while Rosie’s vocabulary had grown in his absence.

“She wants to know if you’re here for her party,” Derek said dryly. “And if you brought presents.”

Malia’s jaw dropped and she raised a hand to her mouth in an over-exaggerated motion. “Wait? Is it your birthday? Do you like presents? Were we supposed to bring something?”

“If you’re going to arrive two hours early, you could give us the gift of babysitting,” Stiles murmured. He didn’t think Rosie would hear him, but from the snorts, both Derek and Malia did.

“Not needed,” Derek assured them. “But you might need to be willing to hang out with Rosie in the living room for a while. We aren’t exactly ready for guests.”

“We can help,” Liam offered.

“Yeah, we’re at least dressed,” Malia pointed out.

Rosie lowered her thumb from her mouth, tiny brows furrowing deeply. “Presents?” she asked again, far more clearly without her hand obscuring the words.

“In the car,” Malia assured her at the same time as Derek responded, “Later. At the party.”

Derek hoisted Rosie over his shoulder, gripping her ankles tightly as she hung down his back, giggling loudly. “Stiles, can you check the cupcakes and then go clean up?”

Stiles motioned Liam and Malia inside. “Follow them into the living room, unless you need to get anything out of your car that won’t survive the summer heat.”

“You said not to get her a puppy and we didn’t,” Malia said.

“She tried,” Liam muttered. “I won the argument.”

Stiles didn’t quite hear what Malia said after that, but the chatter continued just on the edge of his hearing as he checked the cupcakes and put them back for one more minute before they came out to cool. He was carefully pulling the paper wrapped cakes out of the pan and onto a cooling rack when Derek came up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and nudging Stiles closer to the sink.

“Mm. We really don’t have time now, do we?” Stiles said sadly.

“Not really.” Derek’s teeth closed on the spot where Stiles’s shoulder and neck met, and Stiles shuddered under the touch. “Go upstairs and get cleaned up,” Derek murmured. “And save that thought for later.”

Stiles hurried up the stairs. He could hear Rosie squealing in delight about something, and as curious as he was, it could wait until after he was wearing more clothes.

#

“Stiles! Congratulations on your win!”

Stiles was getting a little tired of hearing his name called out. He’d hoped that manning the grill would take him out of the limelight, and for a little while all the parents of Rosie’s daycare friends had flocked around Liam and Malia instead. But apparently he’d been spotted.

He looked up with as bright and friendly a smile as he could manage. “Hi, thanks.” She was Joey’s mom, he knew that. Joey was the kid with bright red hair and freckles who was three months older than Rosie. Some days Rosie reported loving him, some days she hated him, and at least once she’d bitten him.

Stiles had no idea what the mother’s name was.

“Miles and I watched every episode,” she confided, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. She tilted her head, and Stiles would swear she was flirting, but she wouldn’t be flirting. Not when she’d just invoked her husband’s name, and she was standing in Stiles’s backyard with his husband nearby as well. “I’d meet up with Brittany in the mornings for coffee, because we’d always drop off Joey and Maddie at the same time, and we’d talk about your show until we were late to work. Don’t worry.” She set a hand on his forearm, where it was stretched out, about to flip a burger. “We never believed any of the rumors about you and Malia. We know you wouldn’t do that to Derek.”

Her voice was a low hush for the words, but her gaze drifted to where Malia and Liam were sitting, idly tossing one of the kids’ balls back and forth, chatting with a group that included two other moms and Scott.

Stiles wondered for a moment where all the fathers were, and why they didn’t bring the kids to the party.

Fingers tightened for just a moment around his wrist, then stroked along his arm as she withdrew. “She really is pretty through, and so blunt! I mean, who could blame you if you did. It’s obvious you’re all very close.”

Stiles blinked. Did she think he’d slept with Malia or not? Maybe she thought he’d slept with Liam? Maybe she was expecting a giant orgy was happening now that they were visiting him and Derek and oh hey, he knew he forgot something earlier. “Hey, Malia! Liam!” he called out, ignoring the small huff from the woman beside him.

“Hm?” Liam craned his head to look back at him. “What? Hey, ow!” He caught the ball that bounced off his head.

“Pay attention,” Malia reminded him. She lifted one hand to wave at Stiles. “What?”

“Are you two going back to LA tonight, or are you staying here?” Stiles asked.

He was loud enough that the party went silent around them. Stiles caught Derek’s eye, from where he knelt by the kiddie pool, helping Rosie stay afloat in barely two feet of water. “Fine with me,” Derek called out, his attention returning to Rosie.

“Here, then,” Liam decided.

“That’s going to be an interesting night,” Joey’s mom murmured.

A muscle in Stiles’s jaw twitched at the insinuation. Apparently, yes, she thought they were having an orgy. “Rosie’s going to be too excited to sleep, and I’m betting my dad and Melissa and Scott all stay late, so it’s not like anyone’s getting a good night’s sleep tonight anyway. But hey, imagine what you want. I’m just glad to be home for the day.”

“Amy!”

Stiles looked for the voice and found another mom with a group of children around her, several of them covered in the remnants of chocolate cake. She was waving wildly, her wide-brimmed hat flopping. The little girl with her arm wrapped around her mother’s leg looked familiar, and Stiles remembered her first. If that was Maddie, then the mother must be the Brittany that this Amy spent all that time with.

She probably wanted some more gossip time, now.

“Anyway, thanks,” he said, flipping two more burgers in quick succession. He was thankful when she took it as the dismissal it was and left.

It was unsettling, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to having people make assumptions about him and his life. Especially ones he’d known before the show ever happened.

Maybe if he ignored them hard enough, he could become invisible.

“Dude.”

“Jesus.” Stiles jumped, the tongs in his hand brandished like a sword. “Do not sneak up on a guy,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “I might stab the next fangirl who touches me.”

Scott had both hands up, spread wide. “Not a fangirl,” he said. “And I mean, you did kind of win a singing competition that made you famous. Didn’t you expect this to happen? I think Malia and Liam kind of like it.”

Brittany and Amy had joined the group around Malia and Liam, and the chocolate-covered children were at the dessert table getting more cookies and cupcakes. Derek was still with Rosie by the kiddie pool, which was good. He and Derek knew how to keep an eye on their kid. At least Stiles knew these ramped up kids would be leaving eventually with the very parents who hadn’t bothered to pay attention in the first place. Stiles was glad he didn’t have to deal with the sugar crash to come.

Liam flushed as Brittany leaned in close to him, pulling the same hand on the arm trick that Amy had tried with Stiles.

“I’m not sure I’d say Liam’s comfortable being hit on by married women with small children,” Stiles said dryly. “Malia’s enjoying it, though. She’ll flirt with anything, and the best part is, it’s all talk. She’ll give them the thrill of talking a good game, but being virtuous enough to go home to their husbands when it’s over. Liam’s uncomfortable, and I give him about five minutes before hejoins me in hiding over here.”

“But it must be so cool,” Scott insisted. “They all love you.”

“They love the idea of us,” Stiles said firmly. “They love the person the TV talks about, and the one that they’ve made up inside their own head based on that.” He pulled a round of burgers off the grill and onto a plate, then filled another plate with hotdogs. “Hey, Liam! Come help me out here.”

Liam pushed up from his seat quickly, expression apologetic as he excused himself. “Thank you,” he said to Stiles, accepting the two plates handed to him. “Is that ever going to get less weird? It was nice at first, but aren’t those women married or something?”

Stiles motioned from Liam to Scott, because that was exactly what he’d been trying to explain. “Very married,” he said. “The white picket fence and minivan kind of married. Sorry, I didn’t think to invite any single women.”

“I don’t need to meet one right now, thanks.” Liam pushed his hair out of his face, shook his head. “They aren’t even very old but they’re older than you, which means they’re way older than me. I think I really understand why cougars are called cougars now.”

“I know people who would probably want to talk to you about damaging stereotypes, but yes, I think right now they are personifying the predator part of the term, so we’ll let it go,” Stiles agreed. “Feel free to hang with me, instead. I’m pretty sure they’re imagining that the four of us are going to be banging it out in the bedroom after everyone leaves and Rosie’s asleep.”

Liam screwed up his nose and a scowl. “Gross. No. It’d be like sleeping with my brother and sister.”

“Exactly.” Stiles gestured with the tongs to put an exclamation point on the statement. “Scott, that is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“I thought you were telling me that you didn’t want to be touched by married women, not about not sleeping with Malia and Liam.”

“Both.”

“I’m just going to go put these down.” Liam held up the platter, then quietly backed away and out of the conversation.

Stiles grabbed one of the camp chairs and passed it to Scott, then shook out one so he could take a seat. There was enough food. The cake and dessert was already out. He and Derek had discussed it, and presents would be the very last thing before the kids and their parents left and it became truly a family only party. He just had to survive until that moment.

He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, the sun making the inside of his eyelids red. “Sometimes I want to go back in time,” he murmured.

“But you’re famous, dude,” Scott said. Stiles winced at how loud he was, and refused to check to see if anyone was looking. Scott kept talking, apparently unaware of the audience they might have. “You took Derek and Rosie to Disney. You guys had this big family vacation weekend and you couldn’t have afforded that before. You could probably get a better house now, and you could get rid of the Jeep—”

“Don’t say anything about my Jeep.” Stiles opened one eye, just enough to glare at Scott. “I don’t care how famous I get, I am keeping the Jeep. You know why.”

Scott’s expression went serious. “Yeah, I get it. I know why. But still. You could get a more reliable car with better gas mileage and still keep the Jeep for fun, right?”

“Someday, when I’m getting paid more.” Stiles sunk lower in the chair. “I’ve gotten my advance, and we spent part of that on the vacation, and part on a deposit on a school that I want Rosie to go to when she’s old enough, if she gets in, and the rest went in the bank. I don’t get paid again until it’s time for the tour. We’ve got bills. Those have to get paid off before anything else. And I want Derek to have a new car first. He’ll be driving around town with Rosie when I’m stuck on a tour bus. It’s not like I’ll need a car when I’m on the road, right?”

“Still, you’re famous,” Scott insisted.

Like Stiles didn’t get that. He was famous. Sometimes it seemed like every single person he met knew who he was. And all the ones he knew before the competition saw him differently after the show. But he wasn’t sure that being famous was all it was cracked up to be. Not with people like Amy and Brittany around.

He caught a faint whiff of cologne, and by the time Derek reached them, Stiles had his eyes open and was out of the seat. He gestured, and Derek sat so that Stiles could use his lap. Stiles leaned in, stealing a long, slow kiss. He needed that; it grounded him.

“Rosie’s asking for presents,” Derek murmured. “Your dad and Melissa are distracting her for the moment, but I don’t think it’ll last long. She’s had an agenda. She ate one hot dog, without a bun. She played party games. She blew out candles and had a cupcake—most of it, anyway. Now she’s done with the little pool and she wants her presents.”

“Did you remind her that once presents are over, the party’s also over?” Stiles asked.

“She asked if her family would be sticking around, and when I told her that they would, she decided she doesn’t care about the rest of them. Much like her dad, she’s ready to get rid of the extras in the house.” Derek huffed a soft laugh, drawing Stiles down for another kiss. “I wouldn’t mind the privacy, either,” he murmured against Stiles’s mouth. “At least I know Malia and Liam aren’t going to try to drag you off for some tryst.”

Getting rid of the rest of the guests sounded like a great idea, but then again, so did snuggling a little closer to Derek and regaining some energy. Stiles leaned against his shoulder and patted his chest. “Let’s give her five more minutes with my dad,” he said. “While you and I stay right here.”

The pleasure of luxuriating in the feel of Derek close to him only lasted a few minutes before Scott asked, “So, when do you head out on tour?”

Stiles wanted to wave him off, but the slow slide of Derek’s hand on his back grounded him, making it easier to think about the future. And this time, at least Scott’s voice was pitched at a more personal volume. It felt less like he was announcing the discussion to the entire party.

“Early September, I think,” Derek answered for him.

“We’ll be getting on the road the last week in August,” Stiles muttered, still irritated by that part. “We’ve got a week of bonding time, and going out in our buses and seeing the country and having video shot to use for advertising. Our first show is September 2nd in St. Louis. Then it’s six more months before I’ll be home.”

Scott whistled softly. “Wow, that’s a really long time.”

“We wrap up back in LA next March, which is yeah, a really long time.” The dates were set, even though the tickets weren’t all on sale. Stiles figured they’d put the second half of the tour on sale some time after his album dropped, or in conjunction with that happening. They needed word of mouth and the success of his music to help drive the hometown finale. “But even though I’ve got another month here, I’m spending most of it on the road and in rehearsals.”

Derek’s hand slid to the base of Stiles’s back, fingers just beneath the edge of his shirt. “How are those going? I’ve heard you rant about the studio, and Malia treated me to a long diatribe of how awful Kelly and Theo are, but you never talk about rehearsals for the actual tour.”

There might have been a reason for that. Stiles did his best to stay loose and relaxed, focusing on the touch of Derek’s fingers against his skin rather than the anxiety that seemed to rise every time he had to deal with rehearsals. “Eh. Rehearsals are stressful,” he said carefully. “Remember that fight I had with them to convince them that I could lay down the drumming track on my album?”

It had been a solid week of negotiations before Deucalion had agreed that Stiles could do his own drumming on the album, even though he hadn’t written any of the songs. The drums were easy. He could’ve done them and sang the lyrics at the same time, but Deucalion insisted on laying down each track separately and leaving it to the mixers at the end.

Stiles wasn’t convinced that they wouldn’t switch out his drums at the last second, either, but he tried not to think about it.

Derek made a low hm noise as he nodded.

“Well,” Stiles continued, “I lost that argument for the tour. They won’t let me drum on any of the numbers. Not even my debut song.”

He knew Scott didn’t get it, but he thought Derek might. Stiles tapped his fingers over Derek’s heart, echoing the beat he could feel thumping in his chest. He closed his eyes, exhaling as Derek’s hand closed over his, holding on.

“I’m just frustrated,” Stiles mumbled. “I won. I know I should be happy, right? But I don’t get to choose anything. They’re going to tell me what to wear, and what to say. I have to prance around on stage singing, and pretend to make nice with Kelly and Theo. I can sing, but I can’t dance. There’s nothing on the first album that says anything about me. I tried to sell Deucalion on letting me do just one of my own songs, but he refused. He reminded me that they own me. I signed a contract, and it’s going to be a long, long time before I can do it on my own.”

“But you’re making music,” Derek murmured, the words a whisper against Stiles’s forehead. “You’re making music, and you’ll make people happy. And they’ll fall in love with you, just a little bit, and when you strike out on your own, they’ll be there with you. And I’ll be right here, waiting for you. I’m your first fan, Stiles.”

“I’ve known him longer,” Scott said.

Stiles reached out to nudge Scott with his toe. “Don’t ruin the moment, Scotty.” He exhaled again, matching his breath to the even pace of Derek’s. “I’m just uncomfortable,” he admitted softly. “I like drumming. I guess I must have thought I’d fail, and then I’d be looking forward to striking out on my own after this top ten tour is done. And when I won, I figured that if everyone else gets to play piano or guitar, I’d be able to drum. But no. Deucalion continues to say it’s too Rock Band, and this isn’t a video game.” He mimicked Deucalion’s voice as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to make a laugh rumble through Derek’s chest, while Scott snickered.

“It’ll be worth it.” Derek touched his cheek, drawing him up for a kiss. “I’ll be right here,” he repeats, his other hand still holding Stiles’s against his chest. “And in the long run, it’ll be worth it. I believe in you.”

“Daddy! Papa!” Rosie pushed between them, climbing into their laps. Stiles spotted his dad in the background, as if he’d just given up on chasing her as soon as he saw where she was going.

Rosie patted their cheeks to get their attention. “Presents,” she said firmly. “Now.”

He shouldn’t laugh, and he really shouldn’t give in and spoil their daughter. But Derek was already spilling Stiles from his lap in favor of hoisting Rosie onto his shoulders, and Stiles knew there was no way they could resist. Besides. Once the presents were done, most of their guests would leave and Stiles wouldn’t feel as if he were on display.

He leaned up to kiss Rosie’s cheek with a loud, showy smack. “You’ve got it, baby girl. It’s present time. You want me to pack up cupcakes for everyone to take home while you’re ripping open your presents?”

She tilted her head, one finger on her cheek, then she nodded firmly. “Yes. Don’t need cupcakes. Just presents.”

That sounded perfect to Stiles. He helped her get situated on a camp chair like a throne, and while Derek managed the gifts, Stiles took care of wrapping up care packages. Anything to make it so they’d have some peace and quiet for the rest of his weekend off with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny, because I have chapters drafted and finalized through a certain point, and while those are posting, I'm trying to finish drafting the entirety of the past storyline. So I come back to post this and it feels like it was so long ago in Stiles's life. Like. Wow. I can't wait to share all the future things with you.
> 
> I'll see you again in two weeks, on August 15th, and that weekend we'll be back into the present storyline, and heaving for the Sheriff's and Melissa's anniversary barbecue!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (mostly silent) on Tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and on Pillowfort as [tryslora](https://www.pillowfort.io/tryslora). I also write original fiction! If you like my fic, you might like my original twice-weekly series [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) (also mirroring on Pillowfort at [Welcome to PHU](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/WelcomeToPHU)).


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